


Is it?

by Demimonde (teakturn)



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Dark Magic, Domestic Fluff, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Crack, Freeform, Love Confessions, M/M, Magical Stiles Stilinski, Major Character Injury, Minor Violence, Pack Bonding, Pack Dynamics, Pack Family, Reunions, Unresolved Romantic Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-02
Updated: 2016-08-14
Packaged: 2018-07-28 19:44:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 13
Words: 36,636
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7654282
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/teakturn/pseuds/Demimonde
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After an accident that no one likes to think about Stiles left Beacon Hills for five years. Now he's back and everything's changed. And while everyone's happy to see him, they can't help but wonder why he's back. And more importantly, if he'll stay.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Reunion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't know where I'm going with this just yet but it popped into my head and I'd love it if you guys went easy on me lol. But do let me know what you think.

When Stiles stepped off the greyhound on the outskirts of Beacon Hills, he’s five years older, scarred and tattooed, and quite possibly the happiest man ever to see a junky blue jeep waiting in the sparsely filled parking lot. He sees Scott, smiling widely and waving wildly from where he stands next to the jeep, and with a wave of calm and familiarity, Stiles realizes for the first time since deciding to buy that ticket, that he’s coming home.

He doesn’t allow Scott to see the intricate play of emotions on his face though, he merely smiles wider, throw up his arms and exclaim, “Dude! You brought Roscoe!”

Scott just laughs, a terribly teary laugh that has Stiles feeling guilty, before his friend is bounding forward on long, powerful legs and enveloping Stiles in the first hug he’s experienced in a long time. He hugs back like it’s old times though. Like they’ve just come off another harrowing mission that two sixteen year olds had no business being apart of, and they’re happy to be alive.

Like he hasn’t been gone for five years with barely any contact.

He notices that Scott's filled out more, impossible, he knows, but it’s there. It’s just a feeling he has the his friend is finally done. It’s like when you’re baking a pastry or cooking meat. It can look good enough even half baked, but you just know it isn’t _done_ yet. You can’t tell what it’ll look like whenever _done_ happens, but you’ll know it when you see it.

And Stiles can definitely see it.

He’s grown into his crooked jaw, has taken to slicking back his surprisingly long curly hair into a low ponytail at the nape of his neck. He doesn’t have the posture of the insecure asthmatic Stiles knew in sophomore year, but he also doesn’t look like the freshly turned wolf he knew for the rest of high school. He stands tall and proud, but also instinctively subdued. As if he’s trying to calm and reassure you while at the same time asserting his dominance and signalling that _he’s_ the one in charge.

It made Stiles want to laugh and cry all at once. He goes away for five years to find himself and comes back to his best friend having grown up without him.

“Dude,” Scott sniffs at Stiles experimentally, and then deeply when Stiles doesn’t squawk and shoo him away as he would have done as a teenager, “You smell different.” Scott's face scrunches up and then he dives in deeper into Stiles’ neck to really breathe in his scent. “Like, the same, kind of, but different.”

Scott pulls back after that, but he’s still close and Stiles just smiles. He’s dealt with far more invasive creatures at this point than his wolfy best friend reacquainting himself with his scent. Scott almost seems ready for Stiles to freak out and make a rule about bros not sniffing other bros, but Stiles just claps him on the shoulder.

“It’s the bus bro, I’m telling you. For the first seven stops I sat next to a narcoleptic with a sweet tooth. He was just chatting along and poppin jolly ranchers like pills before slumping onto my shoulder and drooling watermelon candy all over my shoulder.” Stiles smiled when Scott laughed like he was supposed to. It wouldn’t do to overload his friend with how much Stiles had changed since leaving. His scent difference didn’t even begin to cover it.

Scott knocks his shoulder and then tells him to hurry up and get into the car because Erica would kill him if he didn’t immediately bring Stiles over once he landed. Stiles nodded amiably enough and started walking over to the passenger side of his jeep which was so strange to the both of them that Scott looked at him weirdly from over the hood.

“Don’t you wanna drive your baby? I figured you been gone so long…” Scott trailed off and then looked like he was trying desperately not to cry.

Panicking, Stiles forced a wide grin onto his face and waved away his friends’ concerns, “My license expired already. I think my dad would kill me if the first time he saw me once I came back was during an arrest,” when Scott laughed, Stiles relaxed more and shouldered his way into the car. “Besides, I wanna see how you’ve handled him since I’ve been gone.”

Scott heard the challenge for what it was and hopped in the car enthusiastically. He started the car but waited until Stiles had managed to wrestle his worn carryall into the practically nonexistent back, before peeling out of the parking lot in true Stiles circa sophomore year fashion.

Scott did the usual catch up stuff, told Stiles about his job at the Vet and how Deaton was grooming him to one day take over. He told him about Kira and how awesome she was and how he _wished_ Stiles had stuck around to really get to know her and how he thinks that she’s the one. 

And not in the way that Allison was the one.

Things go tense at the mention of Allison, but Stiles fixes it by asking about the rest of their old crew and that gets Scott rolling again.

Meanwhile Stiles watches the familiar and unfamiliar streets of Beacon Hills pass by his window. He recognizes the old library that really needs a renovation, he sees the old elementary school where he used to raise hell. He stares long and hard at the park his mom took him to before she became a permanent resident at the hospital.

But then he sees an unfamiliar frozen yogurt place that Scott informs him opened up forever ago. He starts at what looks like a new movie theater and a Starbucks attached to it and Scott laughs at his reaction. Stiles laughs along but he can’t help but feel like he missed out on a lot during his travels.

Scott drives towards the opposite end of town, towards the old Hale property, and Stiles has a moment of confusion before he remembers that all the Beta’s worked on tearing down the old Hale house and building a new one. Scott told him in an email three years ago that they mostly use Derek’s old loft for pack meetings and other pack business. The new house is just for living.

Sounds completely different from how things were when he lived here.

Stiles can feel the pull of the nemeton, and makes a mental note to make a stop there before he gets too comfortable. He’s here for a reason, and not just because he missed his friends and dad. He has things to get back to at some point. He can’t get lost in nostalgia.

“Boyd and Erica are trying by the way.” Scott says suddenly.

Stiles mentally startles, but outwardly he smiles and raises his eyebrows, “All that sex must make pack meetings hella awkward, huh?” He taps his nose and wags his eyebrows exaggeratedly and Scott groans.

“Dude you have no idea. They’re on a schedule now you know? They _have_ to do it when Erica’s ovulating or else it won’t work or something, I don’t know. All I know is that I’m literally traumatised at the sound of an alarm beeping.”

Stiles cackles in delight, “They’ve set up reminders! Oh, thank you Scotty. I have _so_ much ammunition now.”

Scott groans but chuckles good naturedly, Stiles is sure that everything Scott does is just affable and adorable. The fact that Scott, at his core, is still the good guy Stiles grew up with is reassuring. Even if his friends are now old enough to start getting married and planning babies.

“I’d like to see you try. Erica’s weirdly embarrassed over the whole thing. But you know how she is.” Scott finishes without elaborating, as if forgetting that unless it’s in times of crisis, Stiles honestly doesn’t know how Erica is.

But he doesn’t say as much and just hums in understanding anyway.

“So, Boyd and Erica are married and doing the baby dance, what about Isaac or Lydia or, god forbid Jackson.” Last Styles had heard Jackson came back with his tail between his legs (he likes to think literally but from what he gleaned from Scott’s emails it was figuratively) begging to be in the pack and for Lydia to give him a second chance.

He honestly hadn’t expected Lydia to stick around after high school. He thought she’d be off at some Ivy League never to be seen again. But, through Scott, he’d learned she’d applied to state and gotten a BA in something not even worth her time. He hadn’t understood it, still doesn’t if he’s honest. But when he goes to Scott about why someone like Lydia would stick around Beacon Hills when she could go anywhere else, Scott hadn’t shared his thinking.

“It’s a pack thing Stiles. She’s taking classes online and working on her Masters and I think her next step is her Ph. D, but for the moment she’s trying to stick close to pack.”

And the way he’d written that, almost accusatory and damning yet also understanding in the only way Scott could be, had made Stile not write back for two months. Because he’d been the one to leave the pack, he’d broken up their already tattered family without so much as a goodbye or a hint of when he’d be back. Scott of course had forgiven him, but the other’s had taken much longer. It took Erica and Boyd a year before they even deigned to answer his emails again. Lydia made him sweat for almost three before replying to one of his older emails as if three years hadn’t gone by since he’d sent it. And Isaac and Derek hadn’t even tried.

Isaac, Stiles knew, didn’t answer out of loyalty to Derek. And Stiles couldn’t really be mad about that. But he didn’t know why Derek was ignoring him. Nor did he know why it bothered him so much. He understood pack was sacred, even one as disjointed as his own had been. But he had to leave.

He _had_ to.

“Well, Isaac has starked building his cottage further out on the property. After all we’re going through with Boyd and Erica, he and Allison want a bit more privacy.” the way Scott said it, so easily and offhand, almost fooled Stiles for a hot second.

And then the words collided in his brain and he was turning in his seat to gape at Scott like he’d grown two extra heads and a horn, “Huh!” Stiles said eloquently.

Scott looked at Stiles like he was being a weirdo. He was, for some reason, _not_ as dumbfounded as Stiles about the news that _Isaac and Allison were a thing. Not only a thing but a thing serious enough warranty their own cottage on the Hale property. Where Allison **Argent** lived with Isaac. The **werewolf**_.

Scott even had the audacity to laugh at Stiles’ expression, “Yeah dude. I would have told you sooner but Isaac was giving you the silent treatment and no one wanted to get into that and he asked us all not to say anything. He and Allison have been a thing for about three years now.” Scott shrugged as if this wasn’t big news, “They’re getting married next spring.”

Stiles turned around in his seat in shocked silence and Scott drove on. When Scott made the necessary turn into the hidden opening leading to the Hale property, Stiles was still sitting in shock about how much had changed since his departure.

Things had been awkward on the Isaac, Allison, and Scott front for a long time before Stiles left. It had to do with the weird idolation that Isaac felt for Scott and the developing attraction between Allison and Isaac, along with the lingering attraction and bitter feelings between Allison and Scott. Kira and Scott were just beginning to become a thing, Allison and Scott’s friendship was starting to become a thing ( an ill advised thing but when has Scott ever listened to Stiles when it came to Allison) and Stiles was wrapped up in his own thing….

He hadn’t expected Isaac and Allison to actually progress into a _thing_ while Stiles was away.

Then again he hadn’t expected Beacon Hills to get a Starbucks while he was away either.

He snaps himself out of his stupor in time to catch a face full of the warm, homey splendor that is the new and improved Hale house. He could see the craftsman influence in the general design of the house but he could also sense the wards and spells and sigils wrapped into each corner, each layer of paint, each doorway of the house as well. It made him happy to see his friends taking their protection so seriously but also worried about how the wards might react to _him_

The outside was a warm grey green, calming to the eyes while the bright white time and the dark door allowed contrast. It was three stories tall in all, and without counting Stiles could tell there were at least seven bedrooms. The place was that massive. There were many different types of cars parked out front, nothing exceeding the amount of people currently living there, but it was still a sight to see. He could sense the memories embedded in the walls of the new Hale house. Memories he hadn't been around to make, but he couldn't be too sad about that. They were also memories he hadn't tainted. Which all in all was a good thing considering how this place looked when he left.

The last time he’d been here this place was a burnt out shell of it’s former self. It looked desolate and condemned. It reeked of loss and despair and death, so much so that even Stiles, at his untapped state, could tell how _wrong_ this whole area was. Yet instead of heeding his senses telling him to move along he ended up drawn right to it.

Scott exited the jeep and waved a hand toward the house sheepishly. With pink tinted cheeks and a sappy smile on his face he said, “Welcome to the House." Stile could hear the capital H, and decided to respect it and waved at the House as well. Scott beamed at Stiles, as if he was worried that his friend would have a harsh criticism for his new home. But all Stiles could really criticise was himself for not being here to be apart of it all.

While Scott started towards the jeep, no doubt intending to get Stiles’ bag, Stiles took a moment to soak in the moment he found himself in. 

Five years later Derek Hale had created a pack, a home, and a place in Beacon Hills for himself. Stiles had heard from Scott that it hadn’t been the easiest journey for all of them. Packs came to Beacon Hills several times, seeking to conquer what was left of the Hale pack and take the territory for themselves. Beacon Hills was still a powerful place, even after all that had transpired here. But Derek had rounded them all together as a family, and brought order to the territory.

Stiles could feel it. The Nemeton was healthy and giving back to the town tenfold what the security of the Hale pack’s order was giving it. It would make his job here that much easier, thankfully. But it’d make his stay here quicker than he’d hoped it’d be.

And yes, he’d hoped he’d be able to stay for a while. He’d already been gone for so long. Why can’t he be homesick?

A grunt and a curse from the back of the jeep startled Stiles from his thoughts and had him walking back to investigate. What he saw was enough to have him doubling over in laughter. There Scott was, both hand white knuckled on the handles of Stiles carryall, feet pressed against the bumper of the jeep as Scott tugged insistently at the bag. He had a nice sweat worked up and a stray curl, too short to fit in his ponytail, had worked itself loose and was now plastered against his damp forehead.

If Stiles could concentrate enough to look he’d see the considerable muscles on his wolfed out best friend bulging in the effort to pull the bag from it’s place in the back of the jeep. As it was Stiles couldn’t concentrate enough to breathe. He was laughing so hard he was doubled over, one hand and knee on the ground as he wailed with laughter.

From the house he could hear cautious footsteps on the porch, and then on the stairs, as an undeterminable number of people made their way off the porch to stand next to a breathlessly cackling Stiles and a grunting Scott. When Stiles peaked up to explain, he felt the laughter die in his throat as he noticed who stood in the forefront of their audience.

“Stiles.” Derek said dumbly.

Behind him, Erica was holding her hand over her mouth as she jiggled in place. The only thing keeping her from launching herself at Stiles was Boyd, who, though happy to see him, understood the weight of the moment. Isaac scowled at him from over Derek’s shoulder and Allison, under Isaac's arm, gave him a sheepish smile and wave.

And Stiles was able to process this, only just barely able to, in the brief second before his mind crashed into a blindly dumb litany of _It’s him! It’s him! It’s him! It’s him!_. He wanted to thank Merlin that no one could read his mind, but anyone knowledgeable enough would notice the sudden bloom of wildflowers around the perimeter of the house. His tattoos ached with the unexpected use of his magic, and he had to forcibly make himself look away.

He turned instead to a still struggling Scott and, with a weak smile said, “Let it go buddy. It she doesn’t wanna be moved she won’t let herself be moved.”

With a grunt and a thud, Scott looked up at him from the ground with a familiar confused look on his face, “She?”

Stiles nodded, too frazzled to really explain, and moved over to his bag and began to stroke the marred leather. She could be temperamental and even snippy with him, so he didn’t blame Scott for thinking force would be the best route, he was a werewolf after all. Soon, with carefully soothing fingers, he was able to calm the bag back to sleep. Only then was he able to lift it from it’s spot and then turn to look at his audience.

Derek still stared him dumbfounded so he turned instead to Erica who looked like she was practically vibrating with happiness at the sight of him. He offered her a smile and opened his arms. After his hug with Scott he felt ready to be ambushed by everyone else. It just took some getting used to.

“Hey guys.” is the first thing Stiles says to his friends (in person) in five years.

Needless to say Erica’s dramatic eyeroll is expected, but the force of her much stronger body colliding into his own is a little less expected and is enough to level a surprised, “Oof!” out of him. Boyd is the next to approach him, he at least takes pity on his still significantly lankier frame and just slaps a heavy hand on his shoulder in acknowledgement.

“Nice to have you back man.” Boyd says cordially, when Stiles opens his mouth to reply, he gets a face full of Erica’s curls as she squeezes him closer.

“I know it’s the hormones right now but I can’t believe you were gone for five years like that was just okay? Who told you that it was just okay for you to just go?” Erica’s voice is wavery but she refuses to actually cry. Stiles doesn’t blame her, as he’s feeling his first batch of tears rearing their ugly head as well. But he’s saved by Isaac suddenly attacking him from behind and wrapping himself around both Stiles and Erica.

Before Stiles can remark on Isaac’s quick change of heart, he hisses in his ear, “I’m gonna forgive you now because Lydia isn’t here and she’s gonna eat you alive for leaving and coming back when she wasn’t around.”

When Stiles suddenly seizes up in fear, wildflowers all wilting in proximity, Erica protests and squeezes closer, as if she can squeeze the fear out of Stiles or something. Stiles tries to remember there are people touching him and that he needs to rein in his power before he does something stupid.

Eventually Isaac lets him go and Allison makes her way over. She gives him a hopeful dimpled smile and Stiles feels his anxiety over the state of their relationship melt away, “Get in here, Argent.”

Allison’s smile brightens to blinding heights and she launches herself at him immediately. He’d worried about his relationship with her the most. She’d been the last to see him before he left. And she had not appreciated him leaving her with the knowledge that he was going with no immediate plans to come back. He’d worried that him coming back now would make her just as cold as she’d been that final drive to his house.

Then again he had just attempted to kill her at the time.

“We really missed you Stiles.” Scott says with a grin. Stiles can tell he wants to find a way to get into the group hug, but also doesn’t want to overcrowd Stiles. So Stiles takes away his worry and just waves him over. Scott wraps his arms around Allison, Erica, and Stiles with a contented hum.

Stiles can feel them all subtly scenting him, from Boyd’s hand on his shoulder, to Isaac’s nose against the back of Stiles’ neck. Erica was currently running a hand across his side, scenting him over and over again, and Scott, who towered over the women, was running his jaw against the shaggy too long wave of Stiles’ hair. Only one not scenting him was Allison, which didn’t count cause she was human, and Derek. Derek was still standing in the same spot he’d been standing in when the pack had come outside. He made direct eye contact with Stiles now, and for the first time, Stiles didn’t look away.

He let himself get lost in the greens and grays and the smattering of hazel in Derek’s eyes before offering him a soft smile. Derek had been the one he’d avoided thinking about on his travels. Them not having any communication at all had helped that, but now here they were. Literally feet away from one another instead of miles.

Derek was shaving again, Stiles noticed, it looked different. Stiles wasn’t sure he was used to it just yet. But other than that Derek looked stress free, like he’d been sleeping and eating regularly. Five years had nothing on him. If Stiles closed his senses, he could almost pretend he was a sophomore again, and he was stumbling upon Derek burying his sister.

Stiles didn’t want to imagine what he looked like. There was his scars for one. Two long gashes going from the beginning of his hairline, across the corner of his eye, down his cheek bone and ending at his jaw. And it’s sibling, starting again from the start of his hairline, across his eyebrow, into the corner of his eye before ending on the side of his nose.

There were his tattoos, well, what the pack could see of them. Blocks of black ink across his side, swirls down his arms and across his collarbone. The sigils going up in to peaks on his neck before fanning out on his back. They were everywhere, but his friends didn’t know that just yet. It was summer, in California. He didn’t expect to be keeping his shirts on for long, especially with this group. He knew they’d expect trips to the lake and water balloon fights and he was prepared to give it to them. Stiles just didn’t know how they’d react to all of the changes he’d gone through.

But he tried not to think of that. Instead, he kept Derek’s eye and said, “I missed you too.”


	2. Rehash

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sooooo.... I do not agree with some of the views held by a certain character. Just putting that out there.

Stiles is in “his” room at the Hale house feeling out of place and lost.

After the teary and long winded group hug upon his arrival, everyone remembered they all had things to do that needed to be done _now_ or, in Scott’s words, “ _Post haste!_ ” Unsurprisingly enough the only person who seemed to have nothing better to do but stay home was Derek.

Stiles was more observant than they thought he was even before his five year hiatus. If they thought they were fooling anybody with their antics then they were all idiots.

Or maybe not. 

Because they were right in thinking that Derek nor Stiles would call them out on their bull. Which meant that Derek and Stiles were left alone _anyway_ , which had probably been their goal all along.

Stiles wasn’t too fond of being cast in the Parent Trap, to be honest. So after sharing a weird... moment with Derek, he asked Derek where he could put his things and had holed himself up here ever since. It’s not that he was scared of running into Derek while they were in this house without _anyone_ as a buffer. It’s just that he wanted to take the time to see how well his friends knew him when building him his room.

He could see Scott’s influence in the color. A weak, sea green with hints of blue. His room was near the back of the house so the window seat bookcase combo they’d put in afforded him a breathtaking view of the Preserve. If he stretched, he could see all the way towards the lake and just a bit farther.

His bed was a simple, four poster affair. It was a king, which he appreciated after all his years throwing himself off of his twin bed in his sleep, and the comforter was a blue so deep it reminded him of the night sky. His pillows were white and he appreciated the contrasting colors, but he wondered who’d known he’d appreciate this.

Lydia would be the obvious choice, she had the most sense when it came to fashion, Allison following close behind. Erica’s not even close. Erica’s fashion made her look like a sexy threat. She was like a Jaeger bomb poured into clothes. She looked dangerous and obviously life threatening but with a grin from her plump red stained lips and a flip of her curly blonde hair, it’s enough to make you want to chance death.

Her sense of style wouldn’t in anyway carry over well into bedding that’s supposed to be soothing and comforting.

On the far wall across from his bed, is a peg board. Not the one from his room at his dads’ place, but he supposes his dad wouldn’t have allowed them to take anything that Stiles might come back for. It was bigger too, and had a shelf with an unopened packet of pins in various colors. Next to it stood a dry erase board perched unused on an easel, dry erase markers overflowed in a cup on a desk nearby.

He can see how they took his every need into consideration, yet left it enough of a blank canvas for him to add his own touch. It made his heart hurt to know that he might leave this all over again. They’d most likely leave this room bare for him to come back to. If he ever game back.

“What do you think.” Derek asked from the doorway.

Stiles didn’t jump, he was too attuned to the way the wind shifted when another person entered his space, too used to constantly being on guard in case of attack. But he did tense, and his fingers flexed in preparation for a defense spell Stiles refused to conjure. This wasn’t the place, and it’s not the time. Using his magic so obviously would make his friends suspicious, and he couldn't have that.

“It’s perfect,” Stiles smirked, “Creepily perfect.”

The small smile that had started to trek it’s way across Derek’s usually tense face vanished in a second and his impressively thick eyebrows lowered in...concern? Stiles doesn’t think he’d ever seen Derek look at him that way before. He’s much more accustomed to exasperation, murderous annoyance, threatening glares, etc.

He could go on but he was too perplexed by Derek's shift in character to snark.

“What’s wrong with it? You can change things around you know? It’s your room.” Derek said that last part softly, as if he hadn’t wanted it to be so obvious that it wasn’t a guest room but that he also wanted Stiles to know that they’d made this room with _him_ in mind.

It was all too confusing and Stiles stopped trying to be funny, “No, dude, chill. It was a joke. I love it. It’s obviously lacking the Stilinski touch but that blessing comes with time.” this time, the joke lands, and Derek rolls his eyes before turning to stalk away.

Stiles waved at Derek's back, and turned back to his bag to begin the arduous task of emptying Her contents. She wasn’t nearly as full as She could be, a product of Her mostly kinda sorta being on loan (he planned on giving Her back even if he hadn’t asked to use Her) and the fact that traveling had kept him in the habit of carrying the barest necessities along with him.

When he’d first left Beacon Hills, all he had was his mother’s grimoire, all the money he’d saved up since middle school, his id, and his passport. He hadn’t known where he was going or how long he’d been gone, but he’d known instinctively that he had to pack light or risk being stolen from.

And over time he learned protection spells and cloaking spells that kept him safe from any humans who wanted to harm him. But acquiring mountain ash while on the run was hard as hell, and a special kind of salt only New Age stores sold was even harder to find when you looked like a bum and smelled like one too. But he managed, and he’d gotten far. Farther than he anticipated.

With a gentle tickle to the edge of Her zipper, Stiles managed to open Her up and began slowly putting his clothes in the large cherry wood armoire in the corner. Once that was filled he moved to hanging his jeans, jackets, cloaks, and Carpet into the small closet next to his bed. It was still woefully empty once he threw his shoes in unceremoniously, but there was nothing he could do about that at the moment.

With his clothes out of the way, he began moving his binders and books of magic out of Her with care. Some of them were volatile in new places, and he wanted to get them accustomed to their new spot on his bookcase before he attempted to peruse their contents. His jars and vials followed. Beacon Hills held many magical instruments right in the woods outside Stiles’ window. But there was no way he’d get blessed holly ash this far out west. 

Basilisk poison was just a delicacy he favored for his more touchy spells.

Moving magic into the Hale house had been a reality he hadn’t prepared for, but he spelled his room much as he would have if he’d just gone over to his dad’s house like he’d assumed he would be. A glamour placed over the threshold of his door would be enough for casual glances. And his books and binders knew better than to let eyes other than his and those he permitted see them.

And then he was just stalling. Delaying the inevitable trek downstairs and possibly into Derek. Delaying their awkward conversation about where he went and how was it and if he saw anything cool. Stiles could take a lot of things but stilted conversation with your sorta not ex is kinda too embarrassing for him to handle when he has so many other things to worry about.

Like what he’s going to say to his dad. And how he’s going to explain to his very overprotective friends that he needs to take a walk alone in the woods for a few hours to pay homage to a tree stump that quite technically ruined his life. And what’s with his face and why does he have so many tattoos and why has his scent changed and and and and…..

Stiles goes to the en suite bathroom and throws cool water on his face when he feels his heart begin to pump painfully towards a panic attack. Shocking his system from going into an anxiety induced panic was something he’d had to learn the hard way to do. It didn’t always work, and sometimes he was in a situation where clean water isn’t really an option. But at the moment it worked, and he forces himself to feel the way the water runs down his scalp and across his face. The way the tile in his bathroom is a green not dissimilar to Derek’s eyes and how hot Derek had managed to look despite it easily being seven in the morning on a Monday!

Derek didn’t look at all like someone who’d battled with _Bogies_ because they’d gotten a little overzealous during Human Halloween. Derek didn’t look like someone who had to forcibly make himself not conjure up anything he wanted with the blink of an eye just because he could be a lazy twat with too much time on his hands. Derek didn’t have cauldron burns or random bite marks across his forearm and waist,

Stiles did though. He looked stronger sure, fighting creatures that’d make Werewolves shake in their fur would do that to you. His face was leaner, that last slough of baby fat finally falling away from his face. But constantly running for your life/away from something/towards something would do that to you. Stiles ran a lot. Almost enough to make him wish he was still young enough to join the Olympic track team.

He’s only twenty one, and yet he has days where every healed broken bone, every scar, aches enough to make him cry. His last birthday had been spent on a hunt where he’d had to fight for his life against three different creatures. That birthday was pretty spectacular at least. Despite him being stranded in Ireland with a _Daoine Maithe_ who told him he was pretty and the proceeded to try and “save” his soul.

But he’s done things. Seen things, his friends couldn’t even dream of. While they were here, playing house and trying to rebuild themselves. Stiles was off trying to find the world his mother had worked hard to hide him from. And it’s not like he regretted it. He was proud of his scars and his tattoos and his research. 

But standing here, in a place that had been literally waiting for him to fill it, it’s kind of like he missed something. As far as his friends’ lives progressed they’d still been waiting for him. And he’d been off trying to forget them. Or at least, put them out of his mind long enough to move on. 

And the sad part is, he doesn’t even know if he’s succeeded. It’s one thing to look at his research and his experiments and his tattoos and think, _“I’ve grown up.”_ It’s another to come back to his hometown and feel like a lost sixteen year old again. Making it up as he goes along.

The banshee shriek of his phone brutally whips Stiles from his train of thought and he scrambles to get the offending device. His jeans are tight (don’t judge) and it's a fight to get the phone out while it screeches a blood curdling scream on a loop over and over again. But he eventually manages it, tapping on the screen without looking and pressing it to his ear with an out of breath sigh. 

“Hello?” 

“Stiles!” 

“Stiles?”

Stiles pauses and steps out from his bathroom to see Derek, in Beta shift, staring into his room as if he’d expected him to be murdered in here. His eyes whip around the room, looking for a threat, but pausing on all the little signs that Stiles has indeed begun to move in. 

“Stiles?” the faint voice from the phone calls again in confusion.

Stiles holds up a hand to a still confused Derek and points at the phone as the only explanation he can give right now. Derek’s head tilts to the side in doglike confusion and Stiles bites back a smirk at the image. When Derek shows no sign of interrupting him (or wolfing out further), Stiles places his phone against his ear and tries to regulate the loud pounding of his heart. 

“What did I tell you about messing with my phone dude. I’m in a house full of werewolves and a banshee and a kitsune and you thought it was funny to change my ringtone to _that_.” Stiles is smiling despite his admonishment. It was a nice prank, amateur and definitely below his skills, but the guy was new to all this and learning. 

“Well I would actually feel bad for scaring your poor American buddies if you _hadn’t stolen Her_. Stiles!” his friend exclaims. 

Stiles’ smile brightens and he casts a glance over at the bag in question. Stiles has stol….borrowed many things in his life, but She was by far the prettiest. 

“ _Salvatore_! I told you I was going on a trip and that I needed something lightweight but durable. When you said that all you had was Her, I took that as an invitation to help myself.” Stiles could feel Derek’s eyes on him, but he was determined to finish this conversation before delving into that can of worms. Plus Salvatore would be pissy if Stiles cut him off. 

Salvatore Barrett was a buddy Stiles met while making his way through Italy almost two years ago. His Father was American (although he doesn’t like to talk about it) and his mother through and through Italian. He was raised somewhere outside Rome that he didn’t like to talk about but his mother had one of the most extensive libraries of grimoires and spell books Stiles had ever seen. When Stiles met her he only had three tattoos, his mother's grimoire, and looked at least twenty pounds skinnier than he had when he left Beacon Hills. She wouldn't hear of Salvatore making him sleep in a hotel and had made up the guest room right then and there.

She’d taken to Stiles like white on rice and was the main driving force behind the beginning of his entry into sigil magic. She was a witch born and raised, went to a fancy school and everything. When Salvatore's father lived with them he'd forbid magic so Salvatore never learned. When his father (finally if Salvatore was talking about him) died, his mother began magic lessons immediately. Salvatore had started just as late as Stiles and they’d became study buddies. Among other things. Which was why Stiles had no qualms about stealing Her from Salvatore. Worst comes to worst he would just come and get her himself. 

"Where are you anyway, your voice is all tiny. Unless Juliette shrunk you again. If she has be sure to send my regards.” Stiles laughed when Salvatore merely growled. 

Juliette was another girl Mrs. Barrett had taken on as a pupil during Stiles’ stay with them. She was almost as good as Stiles, light years ahead of Salvatore, and delighted in rubbing his nose in it. She’s done everything you can possibly do to someone with magic short of killing them, and Stiles has been a loyal viewer to their feud since its inception. He knew it would be one of the few things he actually missed about his travels during his stay in Beacon Hills. 

“Mama has me in Ireland again.” Salvatore explains. Stiles can almost see his eyeroll and can perfectly draw to mind the image of his friend in one of his great sulks. Salvatore hated Ireland. And from what Stiles remembers of his twenty first birthday, Ireland hates him back. He wondered what Mama Barrett could possibly need in Ireland. 

“Look, Salvy, I gotta go play nice and dance with wolves. I promise to take good care of Her, so don’t worry.” Salvatore squawks at Stiles’ obvious sign off and curses in Italian. 

“So you’re not even gonna ask why I’m in this cursed country?” he asks indignantly. 

Stiles rolls his eyes at Salvatore’s dramatics and shoots a look towards the still waiting Derek in a “Can you believe this guy?” manner. Derek conveys just how unamused he is by impressively lowering his eyebrows three miles down on his face. 

“I know you’re probably in Northern Ireland because of what happened last time so no I’m not gonna ask because I’m busy, _tesoro_! Daddy’s working!” Stiles hissed this last part under his breath, mostly just to hear the gust of wind Salvatore expelled to laugh. 

“Alright, alright, _caro_. I see how it is. You get back to your Beacon and you’ve no more time for your Salvatore.” Stiles rolled his eyes at his friends’ dramatics but didn’t engage. His simply said a soft goodbye and made a vague promise to call (which probably won’t happen because magic was murder on phones and Salvatore was murder on magic), before hanging up. 

He wasn’t at all surprised to see Derek _still_ waiting for acknowledgement but he was at a loss as to how to proceed. He’d made a lot of friends during his travels (you had to when you were too broke for a hostel and not brave enough to sleep on the street) and his relationship with them can be seen as weird when judged next to the one he had with everyone here. 

There was Tessa, his ex girlfriend slash the first girl to take him in and give him his first magic tattoo. It was a protection rune, one mostly fueled by her magic rather than his own, and he wore it proudly above his heart. They still wrote letters to one another all these years later, and he considers her a true friend. Almost on par with Scott. She was funny and sweet and knew a lot about drawing your magic from the life force of nature that Stiles could never master. And she kicked his ass at Mario Kart. 

There were the twins, Leonora and Lavender, two witches with a penchant for Dark magic he himself liked to steer clear from. Not that he hadn’t asked them to teach him. Not that he hadn’t learned and then surpassed them over time. But they were dead now and it made his heart hurt to think of them. Their family sigil was inscribed in two parts on the backs of both his hands. One for Leonora (the night) and the other for Lavender (the sun). 

His friends over the years had fallen into two distinct categories. Still alive and practicing magic somewhere in the world. They kept in contact through letters (really reliable as opposed to text because again, magic fucks with technology in a bad way) or postcards. Sometimes he traded grimoire pages for more information, other times he was just looking for a warm body. 

And the other category was dead. When you used magic, you had to pull that energy from somewhere, and something always had to be taken to give. The twins pulled magic from the energies of one another. It was a trust thing that Stiles hadn’t really understood, but he did know it lead to Leonora killing herself while trying to heal a mortally wounded Lavender. Lavender wasn’t able to heal without her sister’s energy and then she followed soon after. 

He’d felt their death as deeply as he’d felt his mother's. They’d been powerful witches, and good friends. 

Salvatore used tattoos like Stiles. Runes and sigils and pictures etched into your skin in blood, magic, and ink. The same principle as far as expanding the capability of the energy of what you draw your magic from applied to tattoos. But as long as you didn’t completely drain them, they could recharge themselves over time. Salvatore and Stiles dated on and off for a while, but they were more friends than anything despite nearing one of their “ _on_ ” periods. How do you explain that to Derek who is….someone Stiles had…. 

“Stiles! What was going on in here.” Derek finally demanded. Stiles had to give him credit, he had far more patience than he remembered him having. 

“Well She’s,” here Stiles points to the carryall still sitting on his bed, “a technically unauthorized loan from a guy I know back in Italy.” 

Derek frowns, “You stole a bag from a guy you met in Italy.” The way he says it, likes it’s the dumbest thing he’s ever heard but he’s trying to be supportive, grates on Stiles’ nerves. 

“Okay stole is such a strong word you know? And Salvatore knows I’m good for it as far as giving Her back goes. It’s just he thinks he’s funny because I am _definitely_ funny and he tried to get me back for a scream cheese incident and also the Ireland affair on my birthday. So changing my ringtone to a Banshee scream is high-larious to a guy who only developed a sense of humor when I came into his life-” Stiles could have gone on, and was prepared to actually, but Derek had developed this pinched expression somewhere in the middle of his explanation so he took this as his cue to cut it short. 

“Anyway he was just trying to mess with me because he’s miserable where he is and he was expecting me to be unhappy too.” somehow the pinched expression on Derek’s face goes tighter, and he looks up at Stiles with worried eyes. 

“Are you then?” he asks in a soft voice. 

“Am I what.” Stiles blurts. He can’t take these lingering looks and careful tones. He wants Derek to glare at him, call him an idiot, growl, anything! It’s like he’s afraid of spooking him or something if he gets too mean. 

“Miserable? Is being back here...is being back around….m-me making you miserable.” Derek manages to say at least half of that actually looking Stiles in the eye, but the rest devolved into an unintelligible mumble that he spoke towards the ground. 

Stiles rolled his eyes, fed up with how… _soft_ Derek was being and moved to sit on the window seat. He sprawled on it, laying too long limbs decadently across the surprisingly plush cushion before turning to fix Derek with an unamused stare. 

“Just ask the question you’re dying to ask.” 

Derek starts, but schools his expression into something approaching innocence, “What do you mean?” he hedges. 

Stiles rolls his eyes towards the ceiling and lets out a frustrated groan, “Look dude, I get it, shits awkward right now. But handling me with kiddie gloves as if I’m some wild pony or feral cat isn’t going to fix anything. It’s just going to piss me off and make me think you’re doing the ‘fragile human’ thing again. And we all know how much I like that.” 

Derek winced but Stiles just plowed on before he could make some excuse or denial and just piss him off further. He had to get this out of the way now, before everyone came home and had to deal with it themselves. They didn’t deserve that, and quite honestly, neither did Derek. So it was up to Stiles to rip off the bandaid now. 

“You wanna know if I left because you rejected me right?” Stiles says bluntly. 

Derek flinches, obviously uncomfortable and Stiles could tell that if Derek had the power he’d be projecting, “Get me out of here” like a neon sign. All he says though is, “Can you blame me? You gotta admit Stiles the timeline his pretty suspicious.” 

_Finally_ , Stiles thinks, _he acknowledges the elephant in the fucking room._

“Let’s see what else I was dealing with during your so called ‘ _Timeline_ ’, Derek.” Stiles sits up and sticks up one finger, “I found out my mom was a witch. Amazing, yes? No, because I’m also finding out that my life was a lie and that my ADHD was also a by product of my secret heritage that my father thought it best not to tell me about.” 

Stiles sticks up another finger, “I almost killed Allison, the sweetest girl on the planet, because I’m just learning about this apparent magical ability I’ve had all my life. And yes I get it, death happens to people like us. It’s the life we live. But _we’re_ not killers, Derek. We’re not _murderers_. We don’t kill the innocent. And I almost did that.” 

Derek's truly cowering now, but Stiles isn’t done. He’s waited five years, five whole fucking years spent chasing after his mother’s ghost, his truth, his purpose. He’s going to get this off his chest now and he will not say it again. What happened between him and Derek was a shitty night, quite honestly it’s in his top five. 

And that’s including the night he got the scars on his face. 

Another finger goes up, “Number three, if you’re not following. An evil being built from Chaos possessed me and forced me to do horrible things. I spent weeks thinking I was going insane without the security of knowing my friends had my back. I fought that thing alone. And I almost died trying to conquer it.” 

Last finger goes up, and Stiles stares hard at Derek. He’s amazed at his control right now. His tattoos are still, no flora has started to haphazardly grow or decompose since the beginning of his speech. Derek isn’t even asphyxiating at the moment. If Salvatore could see him now he’d be proud. 

“Number four. The guy I’ve had a crush on for years, sleeps with me after one of the shittiest nights of my life. Only to bail the next morning before I wake up. No note, no text. Just. _Gone_. And when I finally find him and ask him what was up with the disappearing act. He tells me point blank to forget about it because it’s never happening again.” The venom in Stiles’ voice could melt through metal. Derek, for once looks significantly cowed. 

And honestly Stiles gets no enjoyment of ripping off his own bandages and brandishing his scars, still healing and pink, to one of the knives that cut him so deep in the first place. But he’s dreamt about saying these things to Derek for so long. Once he’d finally gotten past the depression stage and worked himself towards anger. All he could think about was telling Derek _exactly_ what he’d done to him. 

But looking at him now, this man who’s technically his Alpha, he gets no enjoyment from the act. He’s done too much since then, has to much to do from now. Rehashing why his teenage self up and skipped town won’t change the fact that five years have passed since then, and Stiles isn’t even the same person that Derek rejected. 

“Look, Stiles. I hadn’t known about that other stuff. And that’s….that’s my fault. And what I did to you was especially wrong. But I wish you hadn’t let my actions make you leave and punish the pack. It’s unfair and…” Stiles starts laughing. It’s bitter and ugly and forced but Stiles laughs on even as Derek trails off. He laughs on when Derek tries to talk again. And then when Derek doesn’t get the point, he stops laughing all together and goes into his bathroom until he hears the Alpha leave. 


	3. Return

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soooo, I'm kinda ahead in my writing. And this is the chapter with more....graphic description about Stiles and our favorite resident Sourwolf.

When Stiles peeks out of his door the a few hours later, the entire house is eerily still. He doesn’t think it’s ever been this empty before, especially with someone like him lounging around inside it. He still didn’t know when his friends would be back, and he was kind of thankful that Derek was gone. So he took this opportunity to grab Her and begin the long walk to the Nemeton.

He could have shifted wind currents and rearranged the position of a few trees to get there quicker, but he kind of wanted to walk. Things between him and Derek had gotten heated fast, and he wanted to walk off his residual anger before he got to the Nemeton. It wouldn’t take kindly to negative emotion, especially not with what he planned on asking of it.

Stiles couldn’t decide if he was still angry anymore or not. What happened between him and Derek had hurt more than he thought he could ever hurt again after the death of his mother. The Nogitsune had sunk it’s claws in deep, his magic was out of control and beyond dangerous, and he felt so alone. Scott and Isaac were becoming buddy buddy all of a sudden, and Scott was dealing with meeting Kira and her family and helping her figure herself out.

And Stiles could never blame Scott for how desperately awful everything ended up, but he wish his friend had been there to see that Stiles _wasn’t_ okay and was in serious danger of losing himself.

The magic revelation shouldn’t have been as debilitating as it was in light of how supernaturally fucked Stiles’ life already was. It was just his father’s treatment of the whole thing. He didn’t understand it but he knew that it hadn’t helped keep his wife with him when she was dying so what was it good for if it couldn’t keep alive those who deserved it? Not telling Stiles was merely a protection thing since for so long Stiles himself was untapped and pretty ordinary.

But Stiles forgave his father the second he was able to find a working phone. He called his dad, assured him of his safety and told him of his quest. John Stilinski had been furious to say the least, and Stiles had seriously doubted his father ever forgiving him for leaving. But eventually, his father started writing him letters, emails and phones calls became more frequent.

His dad may not _like_ that Stiles is off doing dangerous shit and acting all Harry Potter all across the world but he understands that it’s also Stiles’ choice and this is what he chose.

The Derek Situation, as it had been dubbed when Stiles was calm enough to think about it, had been a fucked up lapse of judgement that has haunted him ever since. He had just attempted to kill Allison and she was looking at him like she didn’t know him. Scott had offered to drive her home afterwards and then Isaac tagged along which just left Stiles and Derek in the loft.

He can’t remember who made the first move, he was a little too busy feeling like a sack of shit to really even think about his raging crush on Derek, but he does remember how Derek kissed him.

Hungry and fast and rough, as if this was the only time he was going to get this and he wanted to sear it into his skin. And Stiles was still a teenager, back then if someone even looked at his dick he was hard in seconds. And then things progressed from furious kissing to rough groping and before Stiles could even blink Derek was on his knees in front of him, Stiles’ dick in his mouth.

And consent wasn’t an issue in any way. Stiles had wanted Derek for a while at that point, had even been kinda gearing himself up to make it known to the wolf himself. He didn’t quite fancy having another six year crush after the way things turned out with Lydia. But Derek didn’t really allow him any room to talk.

Because suddenly he was coming, hard and fast and so God damn amazing, down Derek’s throat and he’d thought it was over. That Derek would sit back and watch tv like he hadn’t just sucked Stiles off in his living room, but that was not the case. Derek took Stiles into his room and asked him if this was, “Okay”. How the hell do you answer that when you yourself were so far away from _okay_?

But he hadn’t wanted to stop. Being with Derek made him forget about the cluster fuck his life had turned into. So he nodded, and Derek didn’t ask anymore questions after that.

Stiles himself didn’t really believe in the concept of virginity, either you’ve had sex or you hadn’t. There was no pure before or soiled after. But god had he felt _whole_ with Derek stretching him, filling him from the inside. The Nogitsune had taken a large chunk of Stiles, and for a second it felt like Derek was filling that piece up, bandaging it and protecting it.

He’d never felt that way about anyone, so complete and _full_ , like he isn’t this broken thing to be pitied. Scott pitied him, his father pitied him, even Allison, after he’d attempted to slit her throat, pitied him. If felt like Derek had seen the broken parts inside of Stiles and put them back together. Not new or different or fixed, just together again. And maybe that attributed to Stiles building up that night into something it wasn’t, but the way Derek held him afterwards. The way Derek made him feel that night was too much for Stiles not to hope for more.

When Stiles reaches the nemeton, it hums in welcome to someone running on a similar energy. Ley lines were currents of magical energy, and in Beacon Hills the Nemeton a point where they all converged at once. He’d met several witches who tapped into the currents beneath the ground to funnel their magic, and he’d met several more who thought the whole process was too unreliable and would rather draw their energy from something they could control.

Stiles had his tattoos, and it’s kinda hard to switch to another form of magic if you’ve based most of your power in a specific one already. But he was well versed in how he was supposed to tap into the Nemeton. Ben, a Druid he’d dated _very_ briefly in Sri Lanka, based all his magic on ley lines and a nemeton. He’d coached Stiles for a while before throwing bleach all over his clothes and kicking him out.

 _I gotta send him a letter at some point._ Stiles thought suddenly.

Stiles placed Her gently on the center ring of the stump, and began to remove his shoes, then his socks. His sweater followed, and then right after that his tshirt. He took his time in folding them and placing them off to the side and out of his way. And then finally, he called his magic to him.

Starting with the tattoos knotted together across the tops of his feet, making their way into thicker and longer bands around his calves, before thinning out into ivy like vines across and around his thighs, and pausing at the sigils written neatly across the span of his waistline Stiles felt his magic running through him like water in a creek. It bubbled and gurgled and danced its way through him. He inhaled slowly, keeping a careful eye on the flora and fauna still undisturbed around him before continuing.

From the sigils around his waist, his magic moved to the thick black blocks of ink on the sides of his torso, it caught in the knots on the center of his chest before he concentrated and forced it along towards the swirls over his heart and collar bone. He had to focus on every tattoo which was difficult, considering how many he had and how out of practice he was at this. But the whole affair was necessary. He _had_ to do this or the nemeton would see him as a threat and do everything in it’s power to “balance” Beacon Hills again.

When he felt that he’d concentrated his magic enough, he walked among the thick roots of the tree, and then climb on top of its stump. She was acting as a kind of…..voucher for Stiles. Magical objects recognized other magical objects and his treatment of Her would give the nemeton some idea of how Stiles was as a magic user. She wasn’t expressly needed for this ritual but it was a plus to have Her along. Everything would go so much faster with Her here.

The tree recognised Stiles and his magic quickly enough, the rings began to hum and shake as they processed his request. This part was all bureaucratic and boring so Stiles let his mind drift to what he’d eat for lunch today. He should probably stop by the station and get his dad to take him somewhere as a “welcome home” kind of thing because he’d used that last of his American dollars on his bus ticket to Beacon Hills.

Of course his dad would probably chew his ass out for not coming to see him immediately but Stiles could probably get away with the excuse that it was a magic thing that he had to see the Alpha of a town if he wanted to stay in the town but his dad might get the wrong idea. _Stiles_ didn’t even know how long he’d be staying here, putting it in his dad’s head that he was trying to stay would make him leaving again that much more horrible. His father couldn't take another heartbreak.

Although he was solely focused on channeling his magic so the nemeton could judge him, he was still aware of the forest around him. Which meant the second he heard the Alpha’s howl, he knew that he was most likely in trouble.

“You traitor.” Stiles hissed as he frowned down at the nemeton.

The tree just hummed sleepily and then, without any fanfare, gave Stiles the magical thumbs up. He was now good to go to prance around Beacon Hills for as long as he liked without expecting repercussions from the nemeton itself. Or, as long as he liked until Derek and the pack showed up and tried to kill him for going to the nemeton in the _first_ place.

As Stiles hopped off the stump and began gathering his clothes, because if he was gonna defend himself he’d rather do it with a shirt on. Getting stabbed in the shoulder with a salad fork is something you only want to happen once in your life, trust him. But something began to feel….off.

The nemeton was healthy, Stiles could feel that, and with the nemeton’s okay he can now feel the slight awareness he felt when other supernatural beings are nearby. He’d noticed his sudden “connection” to the system, but aside from already knowing his werewolf buddies and his banshee ex crush were in town, he hadn’t expected to feel that dark edge there. There was some other creature, a dark being, living in Beacon Hills and the pack doesn’t even know about it.

 _Well_ , Stiles concedes, _Lydia might, being a Banshee and all._ But then again she was still untrained. She might be able to _feel_ that something is off but she might not know how to channel it without dealing with all of the other unfortunate Banshee side effects.

 _That solves it then._ Stiles thinks with a nod, _I’m going to have to stay here until I find that darkness and fix it._

His friends crash into the clearing around the nemeton in full Beta shift, no doubt expecting some dark druid to be lurking about. Because from what Stiles can glean through their furry expressions they are more than a little surprised to see Stiles, of all people, barefoot and shirtless standing at the base of the nemeton.

“Oh good you guys came!” Stiles says brightly. With a wave towards the nemeton, he says, “We have a serious problem here and I think you guys need my help.” If the dark looks they all share is any sign, Stiles can tell his light mood isn’t exactly fitting it with the tense atmosphere. Scott, ever the trooper, is the first to try and break it.

“Stiles,” he garbled through fangs, “What are you….what happened…” 

He looks at a loss for words and Stiles takes pity of his friend, “I wasn’t doing anything evil so get that thought right out of your heads. Although I am flattered that you think I’m capable of that,” his laugh isn’t reciprocated. _Tough crowd._

“You guys have something serious lurking somewhere in Beacon Hills. I don’t know what it is, but it’s dark and the nemeton can sense it and that means bad news for the town.” Stiles goes for broke and drops the jokes. His friends are slowly returning to their regular faces instead of Beta shift, but Derek remains the same. He stares at Stiles suspiciously even while the rest of his pack attempts to cautiously step closer.

Stiles himself doesn’t really take it to heart, but he can tell the rest of the pack is uneasy about the whole thing. Erica is the first to ask a question after Stiles’ revelation, and he’s relieved to know that it’s about the situation at hand and not the awkwardness between Derek and Stiles.

“You can talk to….it.” she asks cautiously. He can tell they all don’t really trust the tree stump, which he can’t blame because sometimes he feels a kind of way about nemetons and their role in the magical world, but they’re a necessary part of it all. He can’t really question it.

“It’s not really talking. I was just doing a sort of...check in, I guess you can say. It’s kind of a rule of thumb when going anywhere with a nemeton. You gotta check in or else expect the whole town to turn against you.” Stiles tries to say it offhandedly, but he can feel himself internally shrinking at the appraising looks his friends give him.

They’re sniffing him again, taking note in just how much his scent has changed and how different he _really_ is. His appearance had probably been a shock but they could still see Stiles, they could still see their former human. Now he was so much more and it was kind of a shock to their systems to notice it now.

“Hey you’re…” Isaac takes an especially deep whiff, as if trying to confirm it for himself by breathing Stiles’ scent in more and more, “You’re different.”

It doesn’t sound accusatory, but Stiles won’t take the chance at his friends turning on him, “I’m still the same in all the ways that counts,” he starts, “I’m still the same guy who got his best friend to let him throw lacrosse balls at his face. Still the same guy who helped you all when it seemed like every supernatural ass hole this side of the Mississippi had it out for us.” 

He attempts a shrug, but it feels forced, and weird, “I’m still Stiles. I’m just older, not quite as human as we thought, and a badass Indiana Jones Han Solo mix.”

He grins at that last part, and Erica snorts at his analogy, which has the rest of his friends relaxing.

“So all of that,” Scott manages to be polite and not point at anything, but it’s obvious what he’s referring to, “That’s apart of the new Stiles?”

Stiles nods his head and finally begins the process of putting his shirt and sweater back on. His shoes can go on last for all he cares. He just needs to get them to focus on everything but how different he is now.

“But seriously guys you might want to call a pack meeting or something cause there’s a baddy lurking somewhere in town and it can’t be good. Oh and call Deaton. He’s more experienced with the Beacon Hills nemeton than I am.” deciding to postpone putting on his shoes until he was not in the presence of suspicious werewolves, he grabbed Her, and begins to jog out of the clearing and through the forest.

“Wait, what are you gonna do?” Scott calls after him.

Knowing that running backwards in the woods has never worked out in his favor in any instance, Stiles does it anyway just to shoot his friend a smile, “Well all of this isn’t gonna get solved any time soon. I’m gonna go con my old man into buying me some curly fries and then meet you guys back at the house.”

Scott rolls his eyes but nods, and then turns back to the rest of the pack. Stiles doesn’t even get the chance to say anything else. The second his friends’ eyes are off him, his heels catches in a raised tree root and pitches him down hard to the forest floor. Even this far off he can hear his “friends” howl in laughter because they obviously heard nature once again turn against him.

He didn’t take it to heart though. What’s a visit to the woods in Beacon Hills if Stiles doesn't end up somehow hurting himself?


	4. Recognize

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is where we jump into more plot and conflict oriented chapters. A part of me feels like it's too soon but I also don't wanna spend too much time rehashing over and over again that shitty things happened five years ago and Stiles now has to deal with it.
> 
> If you have any questions don't hesitate to shoot them my way.

To get to the station, Stiles actually used magic. With the nemeton’s blessing, he didn’t have to worry about any of his power backfiring on him or having unintentional consequences on unsuspecting humans. So getting across town to little more than a slight geographical shift and three steps.

And if the _Vegvisir_ against his wrist ached terribly for a few long seconds then it was worth it to see the familiar visage of one of his many childhood haunts. He’s kinda sorta overusing his magical ability but the nemeton had given him the okay and the brief hour or so he’d spent keeping a lid on it was weird now. It's hard to switch from using magic in everyday life to not using it at all cold turkey.

Getting into the station and past the front desk shouldn’t be at all as easy as it is. But with some simple misdirection on his part and tiny magical influence he’s able to walk into the bullpen and reacquaint himself with his father’s place of work. Everything’s horribly similar to how it was the night Allison picked him up and drove him home for the last time. From the shrill ringing of desk phones to the dull roar of people talking and laughing and filing reports. He could see a few familiar faces in the drunk tank. No one noticed him and he resisted the urge to feel bitter it had never been this easy to sneak in back when he was helping his dad out on cases.

When he went into the break room, Turkish coffee bubbled ominously in a pot next to a microwave smelling pungently of burned popcorn and an old freezer burned burrito. He helped himself to a cup of coffee, Detective Thatcher’s specialty, and felt the sense of _home_ settle deep into his bone as the thick, black, sludge trudged it’s way down his throat.

He could practically hear his father on the phone in his office, he and Scott choking down Stefanie’s “peace” offering since she knew his dad was gonna tear into them for yet again showing up to a crime scene. Turkish coffee was kind of the only coffee he could drink. Anything weaker all he could think about was hospitals and antiseptic and his mom dying.

After he finished a cup of the coffee, he made his way back into the bullpen and cleared his throat loudly. Not many people looked up from their work, but those that did started spectacularly as they realized it was _Stiles_ , the Sheriff’s kid.

“Anybody seen a man named John Stilinski,” Stiles called loud enough to get everybody’s attention. Those in the know, smirked or outright laughed, those who’d only been hired in the last five years looked around in confusion. Stiles just beamed and winked at the deputies and officers he recognized. Most whistled in acknowledgement, a few sent him some good natured stares. And one, Deputy Sandberg, actually teared up.

But then again that guy has always been a pretty emotional dude. So Stiles tried not to let the tears (or the body racking sobs he was slowly working himself up to) bother him.

“You see, a guy goes on a trip and he can’t seem to find his father anywhere! Almost makes a guy feel neglected.” Stiles laughs along with the rest of the room, and Detective Thatcher, Stephanie, stands up and ruffles his hair.

“Stop playing around kid and go into your old man’s office. Don’t think we don’t know you used to sneak in there all the time.” Stiles pretends to smack her hand away, but that just makes her ruffle harder.

Stephanie was about his age when she first met teenage Stiles. He’d hit on her, as a joke he swears, and she’d responded by punching him so hard his diaphragm bruised. He’d apologized and she’d accepted it with a thick cup of coffee from her mother’s homeland. They’d had a weird brother and sister relationship ever since. She was usually the one to talk his dad down from some of his more severe punishments and make sure he stuck to his diet.

“Alright, alright, alright. As you were ladies and gentleman. Get back to planning my Welcome Back Parade and I’ll pretend to be surprised when you pick me up driving a float in the shape of my head.” Stefanie took another swipe at him, but Stiles was quicker now, and ducked out of the way and into his dad’s office before she could try again.

Now out of the roar of the bullpen and in the quiet of his father’s office, Stiles takes a moment to really look at his old man. 

He’s sitting at his desk, as Stiles had imagined he would be at this time of day, and glaring at the stack of paperwork on the desk before him. He looked impossibly older. It was a startling disparity between his father’s obvious aging process and the bullpen being stuck out of time. Everything out there was just as it had looked five years ago (not counting the unfamiliar faces and the obvious technological upgrades), but his father pretty much looked his age.

There are lines that weren’t there before, grey at his father’s temple and sprinkled atop his brown hair. On his desk was a photo of Melissa McCall, gorgeously smiling into the camera next to his father. They’re at a party, a barbeque most like because that was the only way Scott and his father could really cook; on a grill. He looks happy, and aged, and Stiles’ heart aches as he suddenly realizes that his dad is quickly nearing his sixties and Stiles has been gone for the majority of his fifties and late forties.

His dad, still hadn’t noticed Stiles’ presence, pinched the bridge of his nose and sighs in annoyance, “I swear to God Diego if you bring me another batch of paperwork I’ll demote you to a bike cop.”

Stiles smiles and plops down into one of the chairs opposite his father’s desk, “No way, Diego’s still here? Bike duty would be great for his calves dad, you should do it.”

His dad didn’t look up for a second, just groaned and ran a hand down his face, “Stiles what have I told you about coming to the station on a school day?” 

Stiles smirks, and then waits, and then suddenly his father’s head is snapping up in surprise and he’s looking at Stiles with the kind of intensity he usually saved for college football. Or pie.

“Stiles?” He question cautiously, as if he’s afraid his son will dissolve into smoke and ash if he so much as _moves_. It makes Stiles’ heart hurt to see his dad so afraid to lose him, but he pushes it away to stand up with his arms open wide.

“Unless you have another son with an unintelligible first name I don’t know about.” he jokes.

His dad doesn’t even seem to really hear him. He’s up and around his desk so fast, Stiles actually rocks back with the force of his father’s hug. His dad smells like family, like the couch back home and their laundry detergent and the fabric softener he knows for a fact Melissa McCall uses cause he’s smelled it on Scott before. He holds his father back and breathes in the scent of home, safety, trust, family.

_This_. This is what he’s missed most of all. He and Scott emailed all the time, and near the end there they weren’t even really friends anymore. Beacon Hills was just a place, and by year three, Stiles had been to a lot of places.

But his dad, the last part of his family he had, he was irreplaceable, unforgettable. Stiles actually hunted down wifi sometimes just so he could send a message out to his dad. Because his dad didn’t deserve to be punished for how wrong things became near the end. He’d already lost a wife, he didn’t need to lose a son too.

He clings to him, and Stiles clings back. And then when John makes a move, as if to untangle himself and save Stiles’ dignity or something stupid, Stiles just clings harder. His father hesitates, but all it takes is a weak, “Dad,” for John Stilinski to cling right back. 

Eventually they do let go, and they share teary smiles before John clears his throat and rubs at the back of his neck, “You know how long you’re stayin’ for? Cause Melissa was gonna go grocery shopping after her shift and drop it off with the pack. I figured you’d have business or something so I wanted to make sure you got something to eat and everyone’s over there most days any way so you know…”

It’s so strange, to have his father be the one rambling and nervous. It just makes Stiles smile wider and his eyes water even more. “Dad.” he manages brokenly. John understands though, and Stiles is once again swept into his father’s embrace. Today has been a weird day for him. Magic users aren't big on hugs, and despite how deeply ingrained he is in creatures if the lupine persuasion, he'd encountered very few touchy feely animals while abroad. And yet today alone he's received no less than seven hugs. Eight if you count this one he's in with his father at the moment.

It was wild, but Stiles can't find it in himself to care. He's standing in front of his father instead of staring at that worn photo of him and his mom back before he was born. When they release one another a second time, Stiles is a bit steadier and he turns towards his father with a faint smile.

“I figured my homecoming was reason enough to make you exempt from your diet for one meal. Burgers and curly fries at mom’s favorite place. Felt like it was appropriate. I know it’s early though so…” Stiles trails off, and John shrugs.

“Figure this place can handle a day without me. It’s not like I have anything else to do.” the Stilinski men shoot contemplative looks at the six inch stack of paperwork on the desk next to them, and then they both _pointedly_ look away.

“So, burgers?” Sheriff asks.

“Burgers.” Stiles nods.

When they make their way through the bullpen Stiles is stopped by people who saw him grow up or (surprisingly) people who went to highschool with him, and they all ask pretty generic questions about his travels and his tattoos. They all carefully avoid his scars and it kind of annoys him because despite how terrifying that night was, he’s quite proud of them. They asked about the things he saw and the people he met and the food he tried. But he begged off with pretty generic answers and tried to ask them about Beacon Hills and how everything's changed or stayed the same the last three years.

He understood the fact that they _weren't_ in the loop, so therefore talking about what he was actually doing while away is not possible, but it sure is annoying. He didn’t really wanna talk about the mundane human parts of travel, he wanted to talk about what _he_ experienced personally.

Arm wrestling with ogres, playing tag while apparating around pyramids and temples and islands, eating food that moved (which had been weird at first but beating your dinner into submission before eating was a custom in some countries). He wanted to talk about Lavender and Leonora, how both girls had a crush on Juliette yet never had a chance to act on it. He wanted to talk about Salvatore and how the man was the closest thing he had to a best friend and a boyfriend, and they were hardly ever in the same country for longer than a week.

He felt homesick for the magical world he’d found himself living in when faced with all the half truths he had to spout to keep people from worrying. On his travels, finding magical communities where people were open about their abilities or species was easy. Mama Barrett had her whole house warded, enchanted, and hexed to make living easier and to keep pesky humans out of her hair. He was used to using his magic openly on the street, or levitating his books while doing research so he was never able to misplace things. He was used to comparing battle scars and tattoos with other magic users, comparing techniques and magical abilities over carefully measured belladonna tea.

Stiles hadn't realized how _not human_ his life had become before he was faced with a bunch of humans expecting a bunch of human answers to their achingly human questions.

Although Stiles thought he was doing a pretty good job at the vague answer game, he could tell his father was watching him like a hawk. He was on the verge of getting him out of there right that second, but his phone buzzed with a series of rapid texts and Stiles moved a little out of the circle of humans around him just in case Salvatore thought it appropriate to sext or send him a photo of a rune and ask for translation. You honestly never knew with that guy, it could go either way.

Thankfully Salvatore hadn’t gotten to his text alert sound so no one was punished with the piercing wail of a Banshee scream on loop. When he unlocked his phones screen, he felt his heart sink down to his sneakers.

_They took Erica, Isaac, and Kira_

_Derek’s tracking the scent_

_Scott and Allison are not handling it well_

_Come to the pack house quick_

_-Boyd_

 

“Stiles?” his father asks gently.

“I gotta go,” Stiles croaks. “The pack needs me.”

His father frowns worriedly and pulls him from the officers still crowding around them. They walk all the way to the break room and wait until the officers inside make their way out before his dad attempts to speak.“Anything I need to do? Is Derek calling everyone in or something?”

Somehow, while dealing with the humans who weren't in the know, he forgot that his father is in on the whole thing. Him and Melissa, both of them are _in_ the pack. If not directly through their involvement then indirectly through relation. Yet sadly as comforting as the thought was that he didn't have to lie to his dad about what was going on, the glaring reminder that member's of his pack had been kidnapped sapped any enjoyment he got from that fact.

If something is targeting the pack, which Stiles is almost positive something _is_ , then he and Melissa aren’t safe.

 _Jesus Christ every time I think of stopping somewhere for a vacation some loopy shit has to happen._ Stiles thinks grumpily. He’d hoped his luck would change after the fiasco that was his twenty first birthday, but obviously not.

Turning towards his dad, he offered what he hoped was a reassuring smile, “You and Melissa need to get to the pack house and, _stay_ in the pack house. What ever’s happening is targeting pack and it’d do a lot for my sanity if I knew that you at least were out of the range of fire.”

If anything, the Sheriff’s frown deepened, “Anything I need to be worried about, Stiles? Anything…” his father’s eyes flicker over Stiles’ scarring and the tattoos peeking out from his collar. "Anything that I should steer clear of, that I should be prepared to..." his dad cleared his throat and looked uncomfortably around the room, "Clear up in case any of the deputies want to look into it?"

He didn’t want to tell his father that he honestly didn’t know. There was honestly a large number of creatures that got their kicks from kidnapping, several of which Stiles himself has tangoed with a lot. Salvatore had taken to calling him a Trouble Magnet which he himself couldn’t even argue with. This time at least the trouble hadn’t inherently even been drawn to Stiles. He’d just been the first to notice it. Since telling his dad to sit down and stay out of the way wouldn't work, Stiles decides to level with him.

“Nothing to worry yourself over dad, I’m just doing what I was taught to do in situations that are unfamiliar. Protecting you and the pack falls under that.” his dad nods but Stiles can tell he doesn’t really buy it.

So he decides to level with him, “Look, I kinda just got here and I also kinda just found out about this issue so I’m gonna wing it until things make sense, okay?” His dad look marginally more relieved by _that_ than by anything else Stiles said before that.

Figures.

Stiles gets his dad to agree to finish up at the station as soon as possible and then pick Melissa up at the hospital before coming to the Hale house. Stiles managed to convince his dad that he wasn’t sixteen anymore and he had no plans on riding into danger with half cocked ideas and information gathered from Wikipedia and weird forums. Instead he ordered Boyd to text the rest of the pack (those not kidnapped) and get everyone to the Hale house. They didn’t need Derek running around the Preserve all frantic and messing things up.

Without waiting for Boyd’s reply he sent a brief text to a seer he knew out in Buffalo who’d give him a quick session over the phone for a good price. He’d need all the information he could get since he all he had to go by was the fact that the nemeton didn’t like who ever was intruding and they’d taken three of his pack mates randomly.

Okay not _his_ pack mates. But his friends. Someone had taken his friends and for once he was actually equipped to do some good.

First things first he needs to get to his binders, and then he needs to go to the last place that Erica, Isaac, and Kira were taken. The sooner he could figure out what he was dealing with the sooner he could get his friends back.


	5. Resume

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yayayyaya, new character!!! Boooooo, conflict!

Back at the pack house everyone who wasn’t crying was an outright tense mess. Allison was pacing the length of the living room, looking like her hands were aching for a gun or a knife or (more accurately Stiles supposed) her bow. 

Boyd was sitting very still in the very center of the couch, in his hand was a picture of something Stiles couldn’t get close enough to peak at, not that he planned on getting anywhere near the werewolf basically bleeding anger and despair all at once.

It was so odd how...empty, the room felt when Stiles looked around and noted the obvious absences of Isaac, Kira, and Erica. Lydia stood near the mantle in doctors scrubs and a white lab coat wringing her hands. She started when she saw Stiles, but relaxed immediately and began walking towards him before anyone else even noticed his appearance.

Lydia looked good, as if five years would change the standard she’d always kept for herself. Her hair was shorter than he remembered and she had bangs. Her hair reached the nape of her neck just barely in the tight ponytail she had it in. Her face was free of any heavy makeup but Stiles had seen her at her worst and her best so he knew she had on at least some concealer, maybe some foundation, and her trademark lipstick.

“Thank god you’re here because God, Stiles is everyone going crazy. I’d only been at work for three hours before I had nurses hunting me down because of all the calls from pack members trying to see if I’d been taken too.” from behind her Allison stopped walking and tensed noticeably.

Before either of them could prepare for it, she was walking over to them with heavy footsteps and an angry glare on her face when she said, “Well excuse us for wanting to make sure nothing terrible had happened to you! It’s not like we’re worried about our mates right now.”

Stiles frowned in thought while Lydia focused on consoling Allison. It seemed that whatever had taken them had indeed taken the only wolves (and kitsune) that were mated. Kira and Scott were as good as married, Allison and Isaac were already planning their wedding, and Erica and Boyd had been mated for a good few years now.

He frowned as his eyes drifted over to Jackson, who seemed to be in the process of making tea for lack of anything better to do, and Lydia, who was now holding Allison in her arms.

“Lyds,” Stiles says cautiously, not wanting to lose a limb should his question not be taken favorably. It could always go either way with Lydia and his blabber mouth, “Aren’t you and Jackson like, bound by true love, Disney style? Like didn’t your love pull a literal Beauty and the Beast a few years back?”

From the kitchen, Jackson growled, while Lydia paused to consider his words, “Yeah, but you already knew this Stiles. I don’t see how it’s relevant.”

Stiles hums in answer, still not quite sure of his theory. Derek walked in from wherever he’d been hiding when Stiles first entered the house and leveled a cautiously hopeful look on Stiles, “Have you got any leads?”

Stiles hummed again, and continued to run his eyes over Lydia and Jackson.

Jackson was still (unsurprisingly) an Abercrombie model. His hair was a bit longer up top although he kept the sides shaved down nice and neat. From what he remembered in Scott’s emails, Jackson was working mainly for the pack at the moment. His dad had a cushy job all lined up for him should he decide to follow him into the corporate law. Apparently he’d turned it down because from what he heard, Jackson was mostly helping Derek manage the Hale estate.

Jackson and Stiles didn’t keep in touch so he didn’t know anything about the wolf but what he remembered from high school. He’d gotten info from a few sources (Scott, Erica, and his dad) that Jackson had been attempting to win Lydia back. But he himself knew that when wronged (or seemingly wronged) Lydia can be tight fisted with her forgiveness. He wondered how that was working out for Jackson.

“Jackson,” Stiles said softly, the wolf paused in his movements of placing the kettle on a tea tray along with several cups. When he was sure he had his attention, Stiles hummed again before speaking, “Are you and Lydia not together again?”

Jackson sneered in annoyance, “What’s it to ya’, Stilinski?”

 _Okay,_ Stiles mentally back pedaled, _I guess in some cases douchiness is just an inherent character flaw no amount of aging could fix._

Derek sighed, already kind of done with whatever feud Stiles and Jackson were reviving, and leveled Stiles with a searching look, “What are you thinking about Stiles? I know you have something already in your head about what could be going on.”

Just to be obtuse, Stiles gave Derek a mean smirk and said, “And how do you know that?”

Derek didn’t even rise to the bait, he just looked at Stiles, really looked at him in a way that would probably keep Stiles up at night trying to figure out what it means, and said, “Because I know you.”

And gosh wasn’t that an interesting tingle making it’s way up his spine?

Stiles decided not to pursue whatever it was that Derek was no doubt starting, and returned to staring at Lydia and Jackson. Lydia caught his eyes, narrowed her own, and then dawning spread like a sunrise across the elegant slope of her brow.

“You think it’s taking-” she began.

“It would seem that way yes.” Stiles shrugged.

Lydia released her hold on Allison to creep closer to Stiles as her own theories raced through her head. Once they were standing next to one another, half sentences and half formed thoughts raced back and forth as they tried to think through his theory.

“Okay but why-”

“I don’t know. I couldn’t even tell what it was. Maybe-” he frowned as another thought crossed his mind.

Lydia was quick to turn to him, “What? Do you think-”

Stiles frowned and waved away the dark shadow that had made itself known across her pretty face, “Nothing as dark as that. The nemeton would let anything that dark get into town without at least one of you noticing. I was just thinking-”

“Something you’re familiar with? Maybe on you-” Lydia

Stiles’ smile was all teeth and lacking in emotion, “Nothing I’m familiar with has the ability to follow me here.”

Lydia cast an appraising glance about his person, taking in the scars and the tattoos all at once. She didn’t linger on any one thing, which put Stiles at ease. Within seconds they were back to their back and forth.

“So then why not me? Is it cause I-” 

Stiles shook his head, “A thing that can take two full grown werewolves and a kitsune doesn’t care about exposure. If it wanted you it would have you.” Stiles let out a snort, “Or GQ over there.”

At Jackson’s warning growl, Stiles raised his hands in surrender, “Hey in some circles that’s a compliment.”

“So do you think it’s gonna-”

“No. Two werewolves even as Beta’s would be a lot to handle. Adding a kitsune? The thing has it’s hands full.”

Lydia nodded when he paused, not to prod or to hurry the thought along but to show she was listening. She didn’t have anymore theories he could tell, or she had a few and just didn’t think them worth sharing. With a nod towards Stiles, she made her way back over to Allison, and wrapped the former hunter into a comforting hug.

Stiles walked over to Boyd, the tense wolf didn’t even flinch. _He didn’t have to_ , Stiles thought idly. _He’s with pack, and as little as they are, they’ve stabled considerably since I left._

When he sat next to Boyd, he pressed his shoulder against his and prepared to sit in silence. Talking wouldn’t do much when a wolf was missing his mate. It spoke wonders for his control that he wasn’t weeping like Scott, or looking thunderously close to breaking everything in site like Derek. 

When he settled back further into the cushion, he looked at the little picture he’d had in his hands since before Stiles entered the room. It was an ultrasound picture. You couldn’t see much if you didn’t know what to look for. But he saw Boyd staring very determined at a little splotch of white not to far from the center of the picture itself.

“She wanted to show you over dinner. She thought the timing was perfect. She’d be able to guilt you into staying longer, the pack would be….whole.” Boyd's voice trembled with emotion as he carefully placed the picture down on the coffee table and clenched his fists.

“We were on our way back you know? And she thought it be fun to play scent tag. She’s faster than me, a little more devious,” he laughed there, but the half smile on his face looked hollow combined with the blank stare he leveled at the picture. “I lost her straight off but that wasn’t new. Happened all the time. If I was really hopeless, she’d let me win by making her scent more obvious. This time,” 

Boyd trembled so Stiles placed a hand over one clenched, claw filled hand, and began to slowly push sleep upon him. A wolf on his right bicep howled at the moon on his ribcage, before circling the circumference of his arm up and down, and then laying down and going to sleep across his forearm.

The rest of the pack watched in rapt attention as Stiles soothed Boyd to sleep right then and there. Stiles stood after a moment, once he was sure movement wouldn’t disturb the distressed wolf, and shook out the limb he’d used to pump the power out of. He could never quite get used to the after affects of using his magic on animate objects.

“What did you do to him,” Lydia asked. She looked ready to put Stiles under a microscope, so Stiles was sure to keep his distance once he finally stood up.

“He would have lost control. Whatever did this took not only his mate, but his pup. I’m honestly surprised he lasted as long as he did.” Stiles shot a worrying look over at Scott.

His best friend was flashing watery brown and gold eyes at him over and over again. Kira was his anchor, and without her he was struggling to hold onto the tenuous control he’d managed to collect when he and Allison imploded. He looked a mess. Stiles had expected anger, but this weepy mess his best friend turned into was unnerving and making his heart ache uncomfortably.

Stiles decided then and there that he might as well share what he had theorized in the thirty minutes since entering the pack house. It wasn’t much, but he felt that it would relax them if they thought that they had at least _something_ under control.

“I think, whatever took them, prayed on mates. And not just mates, but the most vulnerable of us.” everyone took Stiles’ words into consideration before Jackson spoke up.

“Erica could kick all of our asses singlehandedly, Kira too. What about them is vulnerable?”

Stiles rolled his eyes but decided now would not be the time to be a dick to a dick, so he answered the question instead, “Well Isaac is definitely better after what he went through with his asshole of a dad, but he’s definitely not over it yet. He has a pack so he’s safe and healthy and doesn’t have to worry about ever going back to how things were, but trauma like what he experienced isn’t forgotten. Which makes Isaac weak.”

“Erica is pregnant, making her weaker because her instincts are saying protect the baby so all whoever's abducting them has to do is find a way to put Erica’s baby or….”Stiles’ eyes drift over to the sleeping wolf still giving off signs of distress. “They just need to threaten Erica to the point of compliance. Which would be easier especially if they already had a hold on Isaac.”

He looked towards Allison for confirmation and she nodded, “Isaac was the first taken.”

Stiles nodded and began to pace as his he finished explaining his train of thought to the rest of the pack, “Kira’s pregnant by the way.” Scott looked at him in shock and Stiles winced, “She emailed me a few weeks ago about how best to break the news. She didn’t want to take away from what Erica and Boyd were doing because they were trying so hard and you guys weren’t trying at all, but she was worried about how you’d take it as well.”

Scott growled low in his throat, “I would have been happy. I am happy. But I can’t….I can’t focus on the thought of a pup right now with her….”

Stiles nodded sympathetically sat next to Scott on the other couch. His friend leaned into him immediately and Stiles let him. What were bros for if not comfort when one of the bros loses the love of his life and his unborn child on the same day.

“So,” Derek said suddenly. “If this is your theory, what’s your solution?”

Stiles shook his head, “It doesn’t really work that way. I may have figured out the why, but I still don’t know who or to what end. Sure they took weak wolves, but what if they were just after the pregnant ones and Isaac was a bonus.”

Allison stood up abruptly and left the room at that. Stiles couldn’t blame her. What she had with Isaac was new, and with her moving in and shacking up with wolves, she couldn’t exactly go to her family in grief over her fiance. Stiles sounded callous and uncaring, which was a side effect of seeing terrible shit happen over and over and over again.

It’s not an excuse, but he’s way more versed in matters of life or death after five years of fending for himself with a weak control of his magic and no pack to back him up.

“So what now? You called us all back and we haven’t tracked the scent far enough to see where it leads.” Derek sounded impatient, and the only thing keeping Stiles from snapping back at him was the steady wet inhales from Scott. He couldn’t be an asshole and a good friend at the same time. He was out of practice.

“I still don't know what took them, Derek. I’d need to go through my bestiary and maybe a few of my grimoire’s to be sure.” Stiles sighs, “By the way what scent did you pick up?”

Derek frowned, “It smelled like healing. Like raw meat and a slight infection. It’s scent was too muddled but I think I smelled blood and milk.” his face showed disgust. Stiles didn’t have the heart to tell him just how many dangerous creatures there were out there that fed off of blood and breast milk.

Wait! That’s it.

Letting Scott go his walked over to Boyd and snapped his fingers over the slumbering wolfs form. He awakened immediately, confusion all over his face as he regarded Stiles standing over him excitedly, “Did Erica’s boobs do the pregnancy thing yet?” he asked.

Scott made a strangled noise in the back of his throat, “Dude!” 

Stiles rolled his eyes and regarded everyone else, “Okay I realize that I’m kinda being all over the place but I promise, my insanity has a purpose.” once Scott raised his hands in surrender, he leveled a look at the rest of the wolves staring at him warily.

When Derek gave him an encouraging nod, Stiles turned back to Boyd expectantly. Boyd leveled an unimpressed look at Stiles before he sighed and said, “I’m assuming you're asking if Erica’s breasts grew due to the pregnancy?”

“Okay you don’t have to be weird about it. It’s a valid question if you think of the circumstances.” Stiles defends.

Jackson rolls his eyes, “Yeah because asking a werewolf if his mates boobs got larger is oh so valid.”

Stiles starts, kinda forgetting that Jackson was still there, and then he smiles. Turning slowly to regard his former bully, Stiles cooes, “The nemeton gave me permission to use my powers as I see fit. There’s nothing stopping me from permanently zipping your mouth shut.”

When Jackson growled and Stiles laughed (cackled, he had to keep up appearances) Derek groaned, “Stiles,” he scolded.

Lydia cocks her head to the side as she looks at Stiles, “You can do that?”

Stiles smirks, “Oh I can do a lot of things.”

It surprises no one when Jackson growls at Stiles’ obvious flirtation, but when Derek gruffly barks out, “Get to the point, Stiles!” Stiles flails embarrassingly.

With a sigh he points towards Boyd, “I think I know what species we’re dealing with. I still need to go through my bestiary, and I still need to talk to my seer and Deaton. But as of now I may have an idea of what we can expect.” Everyone visibly perked up at that, Scott even went so far as to raise his tear and snot smeared face away from the couch cushions to peer up at Stiles hopefully.

“Okay, that’s a good thing. What’s our next step then?” Derek asks.

Stiles shrugs, “I’m guessing he took them while you were all out on the preserve so I already told my dad to get Melissa and come straight here until we have the all clear.”

A thought occurred to Stiles and he whipped his phone out and pressed redial. The rest of the wolves stared at him expectantly. He didn’t know what exactly to say to them about what he’s doing. It's hard to inspire hope in people and then keep it up. He doesn't really have any plan or any real answers. Just a well placed hunch and the magical ability to see it through.

Luckily, Salvatore has impeccable timing and answered on Stiles’ second ring, “ _Caro_ , Papa’s working this better be good.”

Stiles blushed, knowing full well that everyone in the room (with the exception of Lydia) could hear him. Hell, he doesn’t put it past Salvatore to know that everyone _had_ heard him. The rat bastard still hadn’t gotten over the itsy bitsy prank he pulled on him before he left Italy a few weeks ago.

You temporarily blind someone _one_ time and they have free reign to prank you for the rest of your life apparently.

“I need a favor, _tesoro_ ” Stiles said in Italian. Which might have been a mistake because although everyone else couldn’t really understand him Lydia’s eyebrows shot straight into her hairline. He heard Jackson ask for a quick translate and Lydia, seeing Stiles' eyes widen a bit in fear, proceeded to translate in great detail what Salvatore and Stiles were saying.

Salvatore, picking up on Stiles’ shift in tone replied in rapid fire Italian, “Stiles, no games. I don’t wanna drop everything here and face Mama’s wrath for you libido again.”

Stiles rolled his eyes, “That was one time!” Stiles exclaimed in English, “ _E mi sei mancata, tesoro_.” he finished in quiet Italian.

The hum of contentment he got from Salvatore was not worth the vicious glee Lydia had on her face. He was just feeding her information. And from the confused looks passing between the rest of the pack, he knew it wasn’t long before she ratted him out.

Looks like his punishment for leaving Beacon Hills was starting already. _Oh goody!_

“Alright, _caro_. Draw the transporter, assuming you haven’t pissed off whoever’s in charge over there and you’re banned from magic.” Salvatore grumbled without any heat.

Stiles whooped in glee offered quick kisses into the phone before bounding up the stairs to go get out something to write with. He hadn’t really thought that Salvatore would say no, he hated Ireland and Stiles was giving him an out _and_ an adventure. But he was right about Stiles abusing his ability to get Salvatore to arrive anywhere anytime with just a few well placed puppy eyes and threats.

He could hear the rest of the pack hurrying after him up the stairs, but he payed them no mind. Once he reached the room, he instead turned towards the dry erase markers, uncapped a red one and began drawing runes on the floor as quickly as possible. Behind him, he could hear Derek hiss at him for writing on the custom made wood floors, but otherwise everyone else just watched with interest in what he’s doing.

“Salvy’s agreed to help us out with our problem.” Stiles explained hurriedly, rubbing away and redrawing a rune correctly when his scrambling smudged it incomprehensibly.

“Salvy?” Scott asked curiously.

“Oh he’s a guy I met back in Italy. _Great_ with all sorts of mythical beasties.” Stiles explained. He drew a circle around the entirety of the collection of runes, and then stepped back to put the phone back up to his ear, “What he lacks in magic he makes up for in being a dog whisperer type to animals that would rather pick you out of their teeth before speaking to you.”

Salvatore huffed at his explanation and Stiles smiled before saying, “Oh _tesoro_ you know I’m only joking. But if you wanna prove me wrong use magic to get here. I’ve already set up the station.”

“The-soh-roh?” Jackson questioned Lydia.

“Sweetheart.” she translated. Behind her, Derek growled lowly. 

Stiles ignored all of them in favor of pushing his magic into the the station and listening to Salvatore whispering the enchantment to start the transportation spell. His _vegvisir_ rippled and waved in it’s place, glowing more and more as he put his magic into this part of the transportation spell. The runes had enough magic in them that not even Salvatore could mess them up, but Stiles didn’t want to take any chances. He still has nightmares about his friend Pietro being sliced in two by a station spell gone wrong. Hence the _Vegvisir_ on Stiles’ arm. It enhanced travel spells and gave them a higher chance of succeeding.

When Salvatore finished the spell, the wave of magic shattered his phone's screen and completely wiped the device. He sighed at the loss, and tossed it on his bed to deal with later.

“That...light on your tattoo. Does that happen often?” Lydia asked.

“Umm, well it’s kind of hard to explain, but I base my magic off of the magic in my tattoos. Certain tattoos are kind of like,” He tilted his head in thought for a moment before shrugging, “Each tattoo serves a purpose, this one here,” He pointed to the _Vegvisir_ , “This one is explicitly used for travel. It reduces my chances of losing a limb or being decapitated by a station spell gone wrong.”

Everyone winced, but Derek was the only one to speak, “Is it really safe for you to be doing spells like that then? At such risk to yourself?”

Stiles rolled his eyes but was saved from having to answer by Salvatore crashing up from the ground and landing on Stiles. They both fall in a heap of long tattoo covered limbs and knobby knees. Despite getting an elbow in his ribs by Salvatore, Stiles is laughing in delight at seeing his friend.

Salvatore hasn't changed a bit. Blonde hair curled into loose waves that would put even Isaac's curls to shame, green eyes bright in the tanned skin of his face, dimple flashing as he smiled in delight once he finally got ahold of Stiles. He was wearing a shirt that Stiles had forgotten about when packing and his glasses had crack across the right lense.

He was, in a word; beautiful. In many words; a sight for sore eyes and Stiles hadn't even realized he'd missed his friend so badly. Salvatore was just a naturally joyful and happy person. He mad Stiles laugh without even trying and had saved him from himself when he got too deep into his head. Stiles was so relieved to see a friend who wasn't a mess of nerves, worry, and fear that he felt his own eyes tear up.

Things had been kinda tense since hi- _the_ pack started going missing. But with Salvatore here things were looking up.

Salvatore maneuvered himself so he was laying lengthwise along Stiles, his much longer legs were in between Stiles’, his hips cradled between Stiles thighs. He looked perfectly at home cradled in Stiles’ body and the man himself was almost loathed to ask him to move.

He didn’t think he and Salvatore would ever be more than occasional fuck buddies. They dated, for sure. Gave one another the boyfriend title loads of times. But then Stiles would hear of a bestiary found in New Guinea, or Salvatore would disappear at the drop of the hat in search of a _pooka_ or a _vila_ in Poland and then...

Problems would arise.

They’re both too flighty to be tied down and it’s led to disappointment on Stiles’ part who wants something close to what his parents had or suffocation on Salvatore’s because he’d grown up watching his mother live chained to a man she did not love. Stiles was terrified of never settling down and Salvatore was terrified of being chained up.

But friendship was easy. Flirtation even easier. He and Salvatore were already nearing one of their dating cycles already.

Stiles was just about to tease Salvatore for his less than stellar landing, when a voice above them cleared their throat very pointedly.

They both looked up, Stiles getting a more upside down view of the world, and smiled as innocently as possible.

“Uh Stiles,” Scott coughed, “Wanna introduce the rest of us to your friend?”

Salvatore smiled sweetly and extended a hand, fully lowering his weight onto Stiles, “ _Mi perdoni,_ I promise you my mama taught me better than this. I am Salvatore.” he spoke with a light Italian accent that made Stiles melt. Which wasn't hard to do, since Salvatore was pressing the weight of a thousand suns on his lungs at the moment.

Stiles wheezed out a laugh and poked Salvatore in his rib, “Don’t act all charming now. I know it's all an act. Your butt is evil! And heavy.” he groans as an afterthought.

Salvatore leveled a truly sultry stare at Stiles (that he was _so_ looking forwards to exploiting later), “You would be the one most acquainted with it, _caro_.”

The wolves all seemed to bail the second arousal began to flood the room. Derek growled as he left.


	6. Readjust

When Stiles and Salvatore make it back downstairs, Melissa is comforting Scott on one couch, and his dad is speaking in low severe tones with Boyd on the other. Jackson’s passing out tea and all it takes Salvatore, who'd gotten a crash course of all his friends upstairs, raised his eyebrows into the stratosphere when he saw Jackson being so domestic. Stiles had built him up as this rich jock douchebag and the sight of him being all Martha Stewart for the pack is such a blinding contrast to the picture Stiles had painted.

All it takes is Salvatore saying, "Why didn't you tell me they had a Brownie, _caro_? I would have brought my laundry." to have Stiles burst out laughing.

None of the wolves appreciate his good mood, Derek especially seems to be glaring at him more than usual. And Stiles understands there's a time and a place for everything but when you spend every other day hiding from something, learning about dangerous magic or creatures by accidentally stumbling upon them more often than not, you kinda lose the ability to take _every_ mishap so serious. it just gets tiring for every situation to be _the_ bad situation, when you can go through several every day.

When Stiles tries to explain away gallows humor, Derek stomps away without pause. Stiles doesn't take it to heart. He just pictures Derek going upstairs to practice his brooding in the mirror or gather up all his shirts so he can shrink them in the wash. 

As strange as it sounds, Stiles actually prefers the glaring and growling from him than Derek going all Mr. Roger’s on him. Lupine animosity hidden under a thin veneer of annoyance was exactly how he liked his Alpha.

Not that Derek was is Alpha.

Not that he liked Derek.

And just when he felt like he was gonna die of mental embarrassment, Deaton walked through the front door. Deaton suddenly appearing at his side had Stiles murmuring a, “Thank Merlin,” and turning towards a man he’d never thought he’d actually be happy to see.

Deaton, unsurprisingly, hadn’t aged a day. Stiles had heard of magic users and certain kinds of druids slowing down the aging process, but as he understood it the magic it took to perform the spell was unwieldy and dangerous. And while dangerous was Stiles’ unofficial middle name, he didn’t like to mess around too deeply in heavy magic. Leonora and Lavender had been a lesson on caution he really hadn’t needed to learn.

Deaton didn’t seem as surprised to see Stiles as he’d hoped he would be, but then again Deaton had been connected to the ley lines beneath Beacon Hills a lot longer than Stiles had. He probably knew he was here before Scott did. And Stiles wouldn’t put it past him to have prepared for the inevitable phone call he would receive once Stiles had settled.

As if he could read his mind, Deaton gave Stiles a pointed look as he asked, “What’s going on and what have you done so far to fix it.”

Stiles rolls his eyes and motions behind him towards a curious Salvatore, “Called the pack home, called this guy, and I have a suspicion on what this thing might be based on the scent Derek found.”

Deaton nods but he doesn’t look impressed. And okay yeah, Stiles is definitely a grown man who does _not_ seek the approval of his version of a magical father figure but he does expect a little praise. He’d taken control! Been the mature one who kept a cool head under pressure even though his heart had been doing this wonky fast beating thing since he first read Boyd's texts. He'd called the shots over a pack Alpha in a situation where the Alpha’s word was law _and_ managed to call in reinforcements.

Not that Salvatore would be any good in a battle involving werewolves and magic but he was a great incubator when Stiles was conducting research.

“Have you attempted a location spell on the missing wolves?” Deaton asked benignly. He was setting up his medical bag, pulling out dust covered vials and bottles of dried ingredients. So he totally missed Stiles physically face palming himself.

“Of course I forget one of the most basic rules of kidnappings.” Stiles groans. Salvatore giggles and wraps an arm around his shoulders.

“Ah Stiles, impeccable brain power yet an inability to see the forest for the trees, no?” He raised an eyebrow at the rest of the people in the room who were staring at the trio of magic users warily.

Derek, who'd apparently came back downstairs, stepped towards them and literally growled, “You could have performed a location spell this whole time yet you wasted time calling this,” he sneered in Salvatore’s direction. Salvatore didn’t even seemed phased, he just grinned brightly back at the sourwolf.

Stiles ran a hand through his hair, “I’m not even good at location spells, okay? Typically at this point in the adventure I’ve figured out what the creature is and then I figure out how to handle it.”

Derek’s eyebrows shot up, “You’ve done this before?”

Salvatore's grin widens and the power of his dimples go up to a thousand, "Oh our Stiles is a regular Indie Jones! He helps me all the time on my travels and I help him on his. He studies the different forms of magic and I study different magical creatures. Just last month we were swimming for our lives because a mermaid imprinted on Stiles and he felt weird about dating an ageless being with no feet."

Salvatore laughs and laughs at his little anecdote and despite the story being one of his favorites, Stiles shrugs, not liking the way everyone’s looking at him in a different light. It’s like they see the tattoos, see him conjure Salvatore out of thin air, see him put Boyd to sleep with little effort, think of him interacting with mermaids and come up with an entirely different image of him. They see all this, and all at once they reapply it to Stiles.

Before, magic was just a thing he _did_. Kind of in the same way Erica always knew how to put the fear of god in you with one feral smile, Kira always knew how to ease tensions, Jackson always knew how to ruin Stiles’ appetite with his general being alive. But with the acceptance that Stiles uses magic, comes the remembrance that Stiles is in fact, _magic_. In the way that Derek is a werewolf, Lydia is a Banshee, and Kira is a kitsune. It wasn’t something he could do, it was something he is. It was as natural to him as breathing. And so was dealing with mythical nasties on a daily basis. 

He could feel several sets of eyes land directly on his scars like hot brands as the connection was made from his words.

Salvatore, sensing Stiles’ unease at having so many eyes on him, pulled him in close and sent a comforting pump of magic through is Chaos tree and into Stiles’. A sense of calm washed over him immediately and he knocked his head against his friends jaw in thanks. He was thankful for their connection at that moment and thankful anymore when Deaton began drawing attention away from him.

“Luckily for you all I am well versed in location spells. If you could get me an item from each of those missing that they own and have come in contact with recently, that would be lovely.” Deaton clapped his hands together, dispelling the rising tension between everyone while simultaneously signaling everyone to get moving.

Stiles and Salvatore held back, going over to Deaton and helping him gather the appropriate stones and powders before dutifully carrying them outside. Stiles may suck at location spells, but he does at least know what goes into one. Salvatore just wanted to be helpful.

“That Derek,” Salvatore started once they were making their way to the back porch, “That is the heart thief, yes?”

Stiles blushed and rolled his eyes, “How many times do I have to tell you, Salvy? I don’t have a heart to steal.”

Salvatore rolls his eyes, but holds off what he’s going to say by placing the stones he’s carrying in their place, right across from where Stiles is placing his own. There’s about six feet between each stone and after minor adjusting, Stiles signals for him to begin to connect them with the powder.

Locations spells, the important ones anyway, took a lot of concentration. If you knew for a fact that the person was most likely in the same time, planet, and dimensional plane as you, you’d be fine with a local map, the right rock on a chain, and a ring or something from the person you’re looking for. All together it hardly took any kind of magic, and he’d seen a lot of magically deficient humans perform that spell the world over.

But spells that involved looking for supernatural creatures (werewolves, maybe a kitsune) taken by another possibly supernatural figure, the spell became complicated. Because werewolves reacted differently to magic, as did many supernatural creatures, what you would use to find a werewolf, you couldn’t use to find a _vila_. It could actually backfire onto you, making you the one who’s lost. Certain location spells couldn't fight through wards or cloaking spells, and others broke right through them. But you had to know what you're dealing and be confident enough in you abilities to find what you're looking for.

And that’s where Stiles lost his confidence when it came to his magical abilities. He was a quick study (having nothing better to do would do that to you) and he worked really hard with his magic. If you thought about how late he started, how late both he and Salvatore started, then you’d expect his magical ability to be on par with….well Salvatore. But he was still just a novice. Most of his grimoire was packed into three ringed binders. He still had so many other magic styles to find, learn, and categorize. Location spells, the complicated ones, were a bit out of his current ability.

“A heart has to be gone already, _me caro_. They do not just up and leave on their own.” Salvatore counters once they’ve finished the complicated lining. Everyone has yet to join them outside so it seems like Salvatore wanted to use now as a chance to bug the shit out of Stiles.

“Okay so yeah, Derek was a guy that I liked during a shitty time in my life. But that was a million years ago and at least five girlfriends and two boyfriends ago.” Stiles didn’t look in Salvatore’s direction, which prompted the Italian to just walk over to him and put himself in his way.

“I know Stiles. It hurts to have your heart broken, but don’t you think the wolf king has had enough time holding onto your heart? Isn’t it time you ask for it back?” Salvatore was nothing but searching green eyes and soft, friendly touches.

It made something rise in Stiles’ throat that he really didn’t want to over analyse so he moved instead back towards the house.

“Don’t play foreigner with me, Salvy. I _know_ you know that’s not how pack hierarchy works.” Salvatore just sighs and follows after him. Stiles doesn't think for one second that they're done talking about this, but he also knows he has a valid reason to avoid this topic for once.

Salvatore knew a lot about Beacon Hills thanks to Stiles. He knew about Scott's change, Derek's creeper uncle, Stiles' mom. He was also well versed in Stiles' Talk and connected the dots from Stiles ending up on a bunk bed with him in Italy, and a certain wolf in California. He was also self aware enough to know that Stiles had initially started a relationship with him because of how _not_ Derek he was, and was sweet enough to break up with him (the first time) before his guilt could eat him alive.

Back in the house, Deaton is holding one of Stiles’ many bestiaries, but it’s unopened. Like he was waiting for Stiles’ permission before he went through it. Stiles nodded but said, “I’ve never personally encountered what I think it is we’re dealing with, but I do have an idea based on Salvatore’s work. His books are better detailed than my own.”

Deaton nods while Salvatore ducks his head bashfully. "It is customary to ask the author for permission before going through their work. But your books allowed me to see them on your shelf so I figured it was okay." Deaton turned towards Salvatore, "When there's a little less urgency in our meeting I'd love to go over your work with you and compare notes."

Salvatores brightening blush was adorable and Deaton even offered him a rare reassuring smile while Stiles tried to get him to snap out of it. Stiles could never understand how such a gifted magic user like Salvatore could doubt his abilities. His magical skills leave alot to be desired, but he’s working on it and getting there and he gets better all the time. But his uncanny ability to handle any and every magical creature he comes across is to be admired.

Stiles himself has been jealous of his friends bestiary numerous times.

“I was just admiring your work Stiles, I see you’ve taken your abilities seriously since finding out about them. I’d ask which form of magic you’ve chose to wield but,” Deaton gave a faint smile and waved at the ink peeking up around Stiles’ collar, “I can see for myself.”

His gaze flickers over to Salvatore, “You wouldn’t happen to be Valeriana’s Salvatore, would you?” 

The way he asks it leaves no hint to the fact that he knows exactly who Salvatore is but is choosing to be polite in his knowledge. It doesn’t matter to Salvatore because he makes a pleased, cat like sound in the back of his throat and nods enthusiastically.

“Stiles and I train under Mama back in Italy. He is her favorite.” Salvatore smiles over at Stiles who blushes and shakes his head.

“Lets just focus on finding my friends? Shall we?”

Deaton nods, "There will be a time to talk shop when there aren't missing werewolves to be found."

 

Boyd, Allison, and Scott stand outside the circle holding various objects in their hands. The rest of the pack stands on the porch, watching with pinched expressions and worried glances towards the three magic users standing inside the circle. Melissa has started working on lunch and the Sheriff is as far away from the magic he can while still following Stiles’ orders and staying in the house.

Stiles has to stand as the conduit of the magic at the center of the circle. He has a better control over his powers than Salvatore, and he’s young enough that his magic won’t need to be replenished right after like Deaton. He doesn’t mind all that much. He wants to find Erica, Isaac, and Kira as much as everyone else. And he won’t have to do much besides pump his magic into the circle and push it outward into spell itself.

When Deaton motions for one of the three objects, Boyd steps up first. He hands Deaton a familiar looking leather jacket, and stands as close as he dares as Deaton passes the coat to Stiles and then begins the incantation.

At just the right moment, Stiles centers himself, and pushes his magic into the circle, all at once illuminating the entire backyard with a greenish glow. Across from him, Salvatore, is acting as the receptor, examining what the spell is making him see with a pained frown.

It’s easier this way, to put the magic between the three of them instead of just one of them. It’s hard to focus on pushing your magic into the circle, saying the right combination of words at the right time, and then focusing on what you see once the spell works. Deaton had also made sure to add an extra to the spell so Salvatore (who's never seen Kira, Isaac, and Erica) will be able to locate them with little difficulty. Once he finds them he'll stop the connection and write down the coordinates for everybody.

Stiles holds the connection to the coat and the circle for as long as he dares, knowing better than anyone that the more information Salvatore is able to get the more information the pack has. But then suddenly something lances through the connection. A sharp ripping pain starting from the center of Stiles’ chest before pushing outwards.

With a wince he clutches the jacket tighter, and pushes his magic harder. Whatever they’ve connected to is pushing them out. Which shouldn’t even be _happening_ but what the hell, Stiles’ life has always been kind of a clusterfuck.

The pain gets worse, he feels like something is reaching both hands into his chest cavity and pulling and pulling and pulling. He sways for a moment, trying to steel himself, trying to give Salvatore more time, and then his friends’ scream rips into the air and he loses the connection.

 

There’s no relief, no respite from the searing, aching pain now ripping across his whole torso. He’s grunting with the effort to hold in the pain, but it’s no use. The entire pack is crowded around him, trying to help him, all the while Salvatore is screaming and screaming in pain.

“Don’t touch him! You’ll make it worse! He was already ripped from the connection I know you’re trying to help but you’re going to end up damaging him.”

 _Deaton? That sound’s like Deaton._ Stiles can’t really focus right now because he’s fighting for air with lungs that burn and refuse to contract.

His magic doesn’t feel like this. No magic should feel like this. But he’s being attacked, pushed and torn into and burned for his efforts to save his friends.

When the pain abates long enough for Stiles to _finally_ breathe, the rush of forest air has him dizzy and reeling. His face is in the now in the scorched grass and his vision has gone spotty. The last thing he thinks before the darkness takes over is, _this is why I fucking hate location spells._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All spelling mistakes are my own and a product of fast typing and loose proofreading. If you see any spelling mistakes or sentences that seem kind of off, don't even hesitate to hit me up and let me know.


	7. React

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is mostly a filler chapter. I felt like I hadn't put enough blatant Sterek in my writing so far and although Salvatore is an angel, he is not my endgame for this story. 
> 
> Also: You get info on Stiles' scars and his history with Leonora and Lavender (I swear I mention them all the time for a reason lol)

When Stiles wakes up, he’s up in his room feeling like someone had just punched him in the chest. It’s dark outside, and aside from the lamp on the desk across from his bed, the room was dim. He tried to sit up, or maybe move into a position that wasn’t as harsh on his neck, when suddenly Derek was there, gently pressing him back into the bed.

“You need to rest.” he says softly.

“I need to move so that I won’t have a crick in my neck later on.” Stiles counters snottily. He moves despite the arm Derek’s using to keep him horizontal, and is able to find a better position that satisfies both him and Derek.

Sensing that Stiles is done moving, Derek returns to his chair at Stiles’ bedside. “I had Boyd and Scott carry your friend into a spare room down the hall. Deaton says he’ll be alright with some sleep. Both of you will.”

Stiles nods, thankful for the update on Salvatore’s status. What Stiles felt as the conduit can’t possibly touch the torture Salvatore went through. He has to remember to go visit him and give him some pain relief before he does anything else tomorrow.

Unless it already is tomorrow….

“What time is it?” Stiles asks. Derek starts, as if he’d expected him to drift back to sleep, but he’s quick with his reply.

“A little after midnight. Why? Are you hungry?”

Stiles frowns at the worry he hears in Derek’s voice, and tries not to wish for the glaring and growling Alpha he'd first met in high school. This Derek was all searching gazes and comforting touches. He tried actually _talking_ to Boyd, Scott, Allison earlier. The sourwolf he knew would rather cut off his own tongue a million times than actually _talk_ about _feelings_.

The fact that Derek is worried about him and is willing to comfort him is a sign that he’s a good Alpha. That he can take care of his pack. Which he obviously has been doing a good job at, obviously. Stiles has got to stop constantly antagonizing him.

Or he will. When he no longer has to actively deal with him.

“Not really but I should probably eat. I feel nauseous but magic does that sometimes.” Derek nods and moves to probably go get him some food, Stiles shakes his head immediately, "I said probably but I doubt I could honestly eat anything right now." Derek shrugs, returns to his seat and they fall into an uncomfortable silence. Stiles can tell that Derek wants to say something else, and Stiles doesn’t know what he’ll say in reply.

He’s wavering between bitter anger over what happened between them and trying to make a new start with Derek just to prove to Salvatore that he _wasn’t_ still hung up over the whole Derek thing and that he’s _totally_ moved on. You can't repeatedly say you're over it and you don't care when you do things like pick fights with the guy who _allegedly_ broke your heart. Even if he has proof that he has no heart to be broken and he's not hung up on him anyway.

He’s dated like eight other people since then, alright. Isn’t that proof enough?

Of course one could almost make the argument that the fact that none of these relationships made it past the six month mark before he was already moving on to someone else wasn’t a good sign of how “over it” he really was. But that one would also be a dumb ass and Stiles makes it a habit to not pay attention to dumb asses.

And it’s not like he _couldn’t_ have a long relationship. If you didn’t count all the times Salvatore and Stiles broke up that could easily be an almost two year relationship. And you can’t really count the three months he’d spent with Ben because that had been a haze of sex and drugs and magic that left Stiles with a bad taste in his mouth.

Derek isn’t some asshole he’s stuck on. He’s dated loads of assholes. Case in point, Ben. For bleaching his things and trying to burn his research. All over a misunderstanding with a girl he ended up dating after him named Timila.

And his problem with Derek had nothing to do with sex. He’d never believed in that virgin bull so his first time couldn’t have been all that special when all he had to compare it to was porn and his left hand. Anything could be "mind blowing" when you've exhausted your porn pile twice over since the age of thirteen.

You know who was good at sex? Ben. And that guy had been batshit insane. You know who he didn’t have sex with but still had a really good and healthy relationship? Tessa. She was asexual and an amazing girlfriend and that had been great. The two people who had arguably been his best and worst relationship had both been different in the abundance (Ben) and lack thereof (Tessa) of sexual intercourse he had with them, and he was on good enough terms to send them letters.

Well not to Ben. Stiles was gonna send that letter unmarked so Ben didn’t get a goat's head sent to him in the mail as a reply.

Derek was just….Derek. A sourwolf with major communication issues and a strong eyebrow game. He used to throw him against walls and threaten to rip his throat out with his teeth, and then turn right around and save his life. 

Derek was just….

“You said,” Derek begins haltingly, “You said you do stuff like that all the time.”

When Derek’s pause seems to stretch on and on, Stiles turns his head to fully look at him, “Yeah?”

“Is that… is that how you got those scars?” he finally gets out.

Stiles supposes, if anyone else asked him that, he’d get angry or maybe say something crass like, “You should see the other guy.” But he has a feeling that’s not what Derek is looking for at the moment. He’s trying, for the second time since he got here Stiles notes, to bridge the gap left between them. And it’s up to Stiles to decide whether or not he wanted to leave things broken.

“Before I met Salvatore, I was traveling with these twins. Leonora and Lavender. Their magic was different from mine, but they were a good time and we wanted to meet other people like us. We heard of a family down in South America and after asking if it was okay with their leader we made plans to go down there and visit them.

“We took the long way, no guides. We were idiots. We were all looking for ways to forget where we came from and consequences didn’t really make sense to us. We used magic indiscriminately. Which was why we trusted a human friend of ours with setting up a station. He didn’t know what to look for, how far away to make it from any living thing. Ended up stranding us next to a Su cave. A whole family of them.”

Stiles paused trying to find a way to speak around the ache in his chest that had nothing to do with the failed location spell from earlier. 

Derek didn’t push him to go on, but he did shift forward and put a warm hand on Stiles’ knee in comfort. Stiles appreciated it. Words didn’t even begin to describe what losing those two felt like. Stiles had been a mess when they found him and they took him in like a brother. He felt like he'd found a new pack in them, not to replace the one he left behind, but something different all together. He had a family again after feeling the most alone he'd ever felt.

He’d just run from Tessa after running to her (inadvertently) from Beacon Hills, cause his baggage wasn’t her baggage. Lavender and Leonora took one look at him and just _got it_. They knew him. And he understood them.

“Su is short for Succarath. They don’t take too kindly to humans and started to kill their young thinking that we were there to take them or something. Lavender got in the way to protect them, got clawed to bits for her efforts. I got too close trying to pull what was left of her away.” Stiles rushed through his words, trying and failing to prevent the image of Lavender, pale hair stained burgundy with her own blood, her entrails littered around the two of them, her face slashed until basically recognizable, from entering his mind.

Stiles got off easy. Scratched up face, scratched up back covered now in tattoos. But the two brightest stars of his life in a perpetual dark period were left irreparable.

In a quiet voice Stiles finished by saying, “And in the end, Leonora couldn’t cope without her sister. Their magic was tied together, they were tied together. They were all each other had. And Leonora died from trying to save her.”

Derek very quietly, stood from his chair, and climbed into bed with Stiles. He didn’t touch him immediately but left his side open; an invitation. Stiles hesitated, but cautiously leaned into his embrace. Derek was warm, warmer than a human, but Stiles appreciated it. He’d read somewhere that warmth was why humans sometimes made tea in stressful situations. To sooth and comfort them.

Sitting under Derek’s arm, the haze of sleep still upon him, he felt pretty comforted.

“I thought about our conversation this morning,” Derek starts.

Stiles groans and shakes his head against Derek’s shoulder,”Please dude don’t start. You were doing really well with the whole comfort thing but I’d really rather not think about this morning.”

Derek nods, and drops it much to Stiles’ relief. He changes topics instead, to the pack, “Everyone’s really happy you’re here. Mostly they wish that you coming home hadn’t been derailed by the kidnapping, but with all you’re doing they’re even happier to have you back.”

Stiles snorts, “They’re happy I forgot basic magic one-oh-one and didn’t even do a location spell? And then, proceed to fuck up the location spell we actually did attempt?”

Derek’s chest rumbled before he sternly says, “Deaton told us you’re still a novice, you’re still coming into your powers. We can’t fault you for your mistake because you’re the only one who had enough experience and knowledge to figure out that the creature was stealing vulnerable packmates.” Stiles shrugged, brushing off Derek’s praise.

Lydia’s smart. She would have connected the dots eventually. And she wouldn’t have made the wolves come back before they could track the scent either. It would have taken a bit longer, but he’s pretty sure Derek wouldn’t have allowed anyone to get hurt.

“And Deaton explained that what happened back there wasn’t anyone fault. It just meant that the person who took them was smart enough to block attempts to locate them. The fact that you tried, knowing that kind of magic wasn’t easy for you, just made m-them...love you more.” Derek blushed adorably and Stiles shrugged.

They wouldn’t agree on this, he knew. But he didn’t have it in him to argue the point.

“You’re a good Alpha Derek.” Stiles said into the quiet surrounding them. When Derek sighed, a signal that he did not agree, Stiles was quick to defend his statement, “I felt the nemeton, Derek. It’s healthy. Healthier than it’s been in a long time probably. Beacon Hills is moving forward, the town is flourishing. And that all has to do with you as the Alpha.”

Derek’s shakes his head resolutely, “If I was a good Alpha, my pack would be whole. I wouldn’t be missing three packmates and totally out of my depth about what to do with our situation.”

Stiles shrugged, “You couldn’t control that. If it hadn’t been Erica, Kira, and Isaac then it would have been three other people. And probably three more once they died, and three more after them. You had no way of knowing that your pack would be targeted. All you can do now is be strong for the pack mates around you.”

Derek nodded, and rested his head against the headboard. “I know you don’t wanna talk about this, but I do wanna apologize. I thought about this morning, and then I thought about that night, and I realize that on both occasions I did not handle myself all too well.”

Stiles snorted and shifted a bit so that he was looking directly up at the Alpha, “While I agree this morning you were an ass, I can’t really fault you all too much for that night. I was going through a rough time and I made a night that was supposed to be about sex mean more than it should. My bad.”

Derek growled lowly and his brow furrowed as if in pain. Thinking he’d said something wrong, Stiles scrambled to add more before Derek could interrupt him and they go through this circle jerk of apologizing and taking the blame.

“No, dude seriously. I was a seventeen year old with a crush, having sex for the first time and I just-” with a low growl Derek placed a hand over Stiles’ mouth.

“Stiles,”

“Mhmm?”

“Shut up and let me speak.”

“Mhmm,” Stiles paused and then nodded vigorously to communicate his consent.

Despite his cooperation, Derek still kept his hand over Stiles’ mouth while he gathered his thoughts. Stiles, still silenced by the wolf’s dry, warm palm, took this moment to appreciate that if Derek were to look down, their noses would touch.

He also noticed, much to his amusement, that he could see straight up Derek’s nose at this angle. Although boo for him since it looked booger free.

Derek seemed to really be mulling over what he was thinking, it wasn’t until he finally looked down at Stiles, seemingly ready to tell him to forget it, that he got this look in his eye. Like, a _look_. And if asked Stiles would deny it till his last breath but that _look_ had his heart thundering in anticipation.

Licking his lips, Derek began in a low voice, “You weren’t wrong. That night meant a lot to me. In fact I had a hard time even picturing you leaving my bed the next morning.” the smug look Stiles tries to convey with his eyes is shut down quick with Derek’s broken, “But,”

“But,” he began again, “You were also sixteen. And I had been telling myself for a while that once you were older, if you wanted me, I’d take you out on a proper date. I would ask you out myself. I’d meet your father and fully bring you into the pack as my mate. I had a lot of high hopes for us.”

Stiles frowned in confusion, sensing his window of a quiet Stilinski closing, Derek hurried through the rest of his confession, “But that night you were so withdrawn. I physically ached at seeing you in so much pain and I didn’t know how to fix it. So I thought kissing you would be enough. And then it wasn’t and I took it farther than I meant to and the next morning I was _disgusted_ with myself.

“You were sixteen, Stiles. You had just gone through blinding trauma that would send most people insane. I was terrified I was taking advantage of you if I asked you out then, at your most vulnerable. When I took that night farther than I meant to, I was horrified of what you’d think of me.” Derek's gaze has Stiles locked into place and his words are enough to make him dizzy. He hadn't known Derek even noticed how miserable he was. He hadn't even been aware that the Alpha even _liked_ him.

It only takes a few gentle taps with the very tips of Stiles’ fingers to get Derek to release his mouth. It isn’t long before the wolf is darting mesmerising hazel eyes back and forth from his eyes to his lips. Stiles doesn’t help the issue by licking his lips as slowly as possible, and watching Derek’s eyes track the movement. His hand comes up, cradling Stiles' jaw, thumb rubbing hypnotic tracks of heat from his cheek to his jaw bone.

His hands feel useless at the moment, one arm trapped between his body and Derek's, his other hand clutching unconsciously at the henley Derek was currently wearing. His fingers spasmed occasionally with the need to draw Derek forward, close that two inch space between their lips.

So he’d been wrong about Derek all along. All the years spent building up the moment Stiles confronted him about that night now culminate in the fact that Stiles might have had the wrong idea all along.

He understood where Derek was coming from with the age thing. He had already been a murder suspect barely a year before, adding statutory to his rap sheet wouldn’t endear him to the Sheriff any time soon. And from the way Derek talked, meeting Stiles’ father as his boyfriend had been something he’d actively thinking about before they’d even kissed.

“You know I wanted you too right? You know I was totally okay with everything that went on that night,” Stiles tilted his head to the side and added a concession, “Minus that morning of course.”

Derek shook his head, “I could smell the arousal Stiles, but I also took advantage of you in a vulnerable situation. And then you were looking at me like….”

“...Like?” Stiles prompted.

Derek closed his eyes and with a pained expression he whispered, “You were looking at me like you loved me and it scared me because I knew that I felt the same way.”

“Why did you leave me then?” Stiles asked back softly.

Derek buried his face in the long hair at the top of Stiles’ head but said nothing. Stiles decided that with all the information passed between one another today, he should probably let up. His entire reason for hating Beacon Hills (aside from the Murder Years) had just proven to be a simple misunderstanding.

It doesn’t excuse how gruffly Derek rebuffed him the next day, but it does explain a lot about their relationship with one another, and Stiles doesn't know how to process it. Because if he’s honest (and don’t tell Salvatore) Derek had stolen Stiles’ heart and proceeded to ruin him all in one night. The crush and chemistry had been a thing way before the love, but that night had been a practically spiritual experience and Stiles had never been the same afterwards.

And it wasn’t even the sex. Stiles has had a lot of sex since Derek (he made it a nightly mission for two years to never have the same person in his bed more than once if he could help it), his whole outlook on love and life changed after what he went through with him. 

And he knew, he _knew_ that something was different about what he did with Derek. It was the way Derek held him as if he was something precious. The way he’d cradled him as he drew out his orgasm and then soothed him through the aftershocks. It was the looks of pure wonder as he looked into Stiles’ eyes, as if he couldn’t believe that _he_ got to have this, with Stiles.

The rude awakening the next morning had been the catalyst that changed his life forever. He won’t go so far as to say he wouldn’t have his magic.That’s something he was born with and he knew that when the time came Deaton would have been his mentor. But maybe he wouldn’t have been so quick to leave.

Things had been awful after the Nogitsune, and his relationship with Scott was quickly deteriorating. Finding out he had magical abilities his father kept from him made even more sense once you held it up with all the trouble he dragged himself into with the werewolves, and he’d forgiven his father pretty quickly for that.

So maybe he had used Derek’s rejection as an excuse to run, and now after learning that Derek has (once again) taken all the blame on himself maybe he should rethink his resistance towards forgiving the wolf.

But how do you give up five years of hate, shame, and heartbreak in one day? How do you forgive that?


	8. Rebuild

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is unedited and probably trash but it's more filler and more Sterek goodness. Conflicts and irregular regular postings will resume Monday-Friday, unless I finish the story before then.

“Leo would gut you like a fish if you called her Leonora. And Lavender was the only one who got away with calling her Nono, had something to do with their first foster home I think.” when Derek hums, Stiles continues, “And Laf was the biggest sweetheart. Like she’s worse than Scotty, you know? She inherently believed the best about everyone she met and she had to save everyone from everything.”

He lifts his shirt and point at a tattoo on his left pectoral, “She gave me this, told me it’d look badass with the one Tessa gave me. And I totally didn’t question it when she brought out her own ink or whatever. Not till later.”

The tattoo itself isn’t all that big, but it’s detailed to hell. It’s a fox, painstakingly inked in red, orange, yellow, and black ink. The art itself looks like something out of a watercolor, smoke faintly arching off the bushy flame like tail of the creature. It moves somewhere new everyday, but it’s favorite spot seems to be where Lavender first put it. 

His other tattoos aren’t as particular. They move where they please with impunity. If he’s having a particularly “magical” day, the go back to where they started, to make it easier on him. But other than that they have a “mind” of their own.

Derek’s fingers run over the ink gently, raising goosebumps on his skin, “What’s it for?” he asks.

Smirking Stiles shrugs, “What makes you think it means anything?”

Derek shrugs, but manages to meet Stiles’ flippant gaze with one of utmost sincerity, “Because you decided to show it to me. Because when you touched it your heartbeat quickened and misery settled over your scent like a cloud.”

Stiles had to look away at that. He swallowed the lump in his throat and put his shirt down, taking time to smooth out wrinkles before finishing his answering the question.

“It’s my guide. Like I said, magic can be dangerous, and certain kinds of magic shouldn’t be done at all in my opinion. But if you have to do spells that are….on the wrong side of ok, then having a guide can keep you from going over the deep end.” he couldn’t get out any more, and Derek didn’t push.

Leo’s guide was a raven, a stark black bird with blue back wings and an iridescent coat that had been inked largely on the back of her neck and shoulder blades. When it moved it arched gracefully on sun browned skin. Stiles had tried to track it’s movements whenever they used magic, but very rarely did he catch it in action. His only glimpse of it was when it’d fly gracefully back to it’s post.

Lavender had a bunny, spotty brown and white thing that moved in a blur around her body at all times because there wasn’t nothing that Lavender didn’t use her magic for. When it settled, usually to rest or mess around with Leo’s raven, it kept a watchful eye out for it’s owner with cool blueish eyes that haunt Stiles to this day.

“Their guides didn’t help them?” Derek asked cautiously.

Stiles shook his head morosely, “They used different magic than I did. I draw my magic from sigils and runes and symbols inked on my skin. Their magic drew on one another. Their guides were used mostly as a way to replenish whatever the other had taken away.”

Derek stiffens and looks down at Stiles with shock, “That sounds…”

“Dangerous I know, but their relationship was like nothing I’d ever seen before. To do that takes an extreme amount of trust and control. Take too much and you could end up killing the person, and then you lose all your magic as well. And a bond like that could never be replaced.”

Derek shuddered, “So when she tried to bring Lavender back, what did she draw on for that kind of magic.”

Stiles tried to keep his body from stiffening, but Derek felt it anyway or maybe his heart gave him away.

“Stiles!”

“Lavender was my friend. Lavender didn’t deserve to die like that, no one does but especially not Lavender. She was the most innocent person I’ve ever met, the most pure. Saving her hadn’t even been a question to me. I was too green, I didn’t have nearly enough tattoos to do it myself, nor did I have the knowledge of how to do it.” Stiles ran a shaky hand through his hair and shook his head roughly. To dispel the memories. to organize his thoughts, who knew? He just had to make Derek understand.

“Lavender was a pure soul. She was the type of person to invite homeless people back to the apartment so they could shower and she would cook them meals. She had half the neighborhood alley cats living on her balcony and the front stoop, the other half seemed to have an open invitation to just break in when they felt like it. Everyone loved her, _everyone_. She didn’t deserve to die some shitty bloody death in fuck all Brazil, because we were too stupid to plan ahead.”

Derek reaches up, and run claw tipped finger down the biggest of Stiles’ scars. Without even needing to look, he knows that Derek’s claws couldn’t have done the same thing. Werewolf claws are too narrow, not jagged enough. He doesn’t attempt to scold him for his past, just nods so Stiles can finished.

“Eventually the family of magic users we found figured out where we went wrong and came along just in time to save me from bleeding out. We gave Laf and Leo a proper burial, and I stayed with them for six months.”

“Why six?” Derek asked softly.

Stiles ran a hand down his face, “There was the fear, that I’d lose one of my eyes, there was the fear that I’d never walk again since my back had been torn all to shit. Not to mention my magic was severely depleted from Leo trying to draw it from me to save Laf. I gave myself six months to heal and leave. I left with an eyepatch and new tattoos.”

They sat in silence for a while, Derek mulling over what Stiles told him, Stiles lost in his memories.

He doesn’t know why he felt the need to tell him that story. Even Salvatore got the heavily edited Disney version of how things went down. And he’s just now working towards trying to be Derek’s friend. Cuddling and talking about horrific injuries doesn’t seem like friendship building past times.

But Derek had this kind of calm stillness to him, that reminded Stiles instinctively of Lavender. They were alike in a lot of ways, and not talking about her felt wrong. He knew he’d never forget her, not just because of her connection to his disfigurement, but because of how they’d come to be friends and how he came to lose her.

Talking with Derek had been the first time he’d ever told the whole story, truthfully. And he knew Derek wouldn’t pull a Salvatore and try to eat and drink and talk away the pain, or pull a Scott and give him these pained puppy dog eyes that meant he was blaming himself for Stiles running away. 

He’d sit, and he’d listen, and then he’d offer silent comfort. Which is really all that Stiles thinks he can handle at the moment.

“The day I realized you were gone, I’d thought something terrible had happened to you.” Derek begins, “You hadn’t been coming to pack meetings or answering my texts, but I thought it was because I had really upset you. So I went to your house.”

Stiles lurches out of the cocoon of warmth he had in the space between Derek’s arm and his side, “Are you nuts! Did it not occur to you that my dad is in fact a _cop_ ”

Derek didn’t even really react at Stiles’ theatrics, he just rolled his eyes and started again, “I came through the window, or I tried to. It had been locked since the last time I snuck in. And I felt bad about breaking the lock but I figured I could fix it after I apologized. By the time I got in, you scent was faint. As if you hadn’t been home in weeks. Not much of your stuff was gone, and from what I could see all of your clothes were in their usual places,”

Derek let out a shuddering breath and murmured, “It was pretty obvious though, that you were gone.”

Stiles felt more and more guilt rise up in his chest as Derek recalled how he immediately called Scott and was gonna start a search party, until Scott told him that Stiles had went on a trip and didn’t know when he’d be back.

“I knew, after a while, that you were in communication with your father and Scott. And I hoped that at some point you’d send me a message as well, but when you didn’t I felt it was pretty obvious how you felt about me and that night and I didn’t want to do anything worse than I had already done.”

Stiles opened his mouth, but he had no idea what he wanted to say. To be perfectly honest he hadn’t counted on Derek even noticing his absence, least of all missing him. 

With nothing else to say, Stiles snuggled deeper into Derek’s embrace, and tried to will himself to go to sleep. If he went to sleep, he didn’t have to think about what it meant that he told Derek about Leonora and Lavender, he didn’t have to think about what he must have put Derek through when he almost literally dropped off the face of the earth, and he didn’t have to think about the fact that he was cuddling with Derek Hale.

At first it had been two bros who had, at some point, bumped uglies and were now reconciling after one of the bros jumped ship after said bumping of uglies. And now it was this sentimental ...thing. 

Derek was _in_ his bed. 

Derek was _in_ his bed, and they were talking about _feelings_.

Derek _missed_ him.

Derek wanted to _apologize_ to him.

His world view had jumped ship without a life jacket and now Stiles was struggling to stay afloat in the multitude of thoughts that threatened to drown him under the weight of _what this means_.

A snore cut into Stiles’ silent mental panic, and with some difficulty (the arm that had been supporting his neck was now circled not ungently around his shoulders) he looked up to see the Alpha snoring.

He almost wanted to demand a reason as to how the wolf could sleep with three packmates missing and all this angst between them, until he saw the dark circles around Derek’s closed eyes.

The Alpha had been stressing out and not sleeping. Stiles wasn’t vain enough to wonder if he’d been stressing about him personally, but he was vain enough to wonder if he was at least in the top five things that had the Alpha missing sleep. Cause Stiles had damn sure lost a lot of sleep over Derek.

With the way the Alpha gripped him, Stiles had no chance of wiggling away or repositioning both of them, without waking Derek or aggravating an old injury. Not even magic could help. Aparating this close to another being while they were asleep could lead to a loss of limb for the companion and a headache for Stiles.

A headache would seriously impair his ability to get back to sleep. So that plan was obviously vetoed.

Not that his body planned even remotely to allow him to sleep, if his wandering thoughts were any indication. He would obviously think himself into circles and then pass out sometime around first light.

_Oh goody!_


	9. Reconcile

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So updates are looking like a once a day, everyday thing, and we are definitely nearing the end of our tale.

With a blink Stiles is awake and Erica is standing at the foot of his bed with a smirk painted red across her plump lips. It takes Stiles way too long to realize that something is not….right.

But it’s Erica, and she’s always smirking and smiling and teasing. But there’s an edge to her smirk at the moment. It pulls at the muscles in her face as if it’s unsure how everything works, as if it has only a basic understanding of what expressions look like and how to make them.

Stiles raising his eyebrows in a, “Well?” gesture, is the only thing that has the creature speaking.

“You almost had me there. I was quite worried, Mage. It was not my intention to hurt your friend but he was just so,” the creature wearing Erica’s skin gives an almost reptilian roll of her shoulders, “ persistent.” he breaths out like relief.

Stiles frowns, he’s dreaming, then. Because Derek lays next to him, snoring soundly, and sleep deprived or not they’ve lived a life that isn’t exactly forgiving of heavy sleepers. And everything’s too bright. Everything’s too soft around the edges, even though Stiles is pretty sure he’s staring into the eyes of something very unpleasant.

“Okay dude I’ve spent like, way too long dealing with villains and their monologues so if you wanna threaten me or tell me resistance is futile, then I can promise you that I’ve heard it a hundred times and it’s pretty much lost it’s novelty at this point.” Stiles rubs sleep out of his eyes and pretends to relax back into the bed and Derek’s embrace.

Really, he’s placing the base of his spine against Derek’s hand. It’s uncomfortable, and the pain would surely wake up the other wolf, but Derek just snuffled uncomfortably and slept on. He just needs the hand there, in a vulnerable place, so that when the time comes he can save himself. Werewolf claws are good for things other than slicing and dicing, he's found.

The creature furrows Erica’s brow adorably, and straight white teeth bite down on her lips. If he had to take a guess, the creature was trying to fast forward through it’s obviously prepared speech. And Stiles just sighed and pretended to be going back to sleep. The creature couldn’t do anything to him here, and riling it up was the surest way to get it to fuck up enough to give Stiles something he can work with.

He just has to make sure he doesn’t over do it. He remembers what it was like to have his leg broken for him because he put a little too much effort into baiting some creature or other Salvatore was interested in cataloguing. It had been worth it, for Salvatore, only now he had to deal with the limb giving out on him if he overexerts himself. And when it's cold out his left leg hurts so much it's hard to walk. Every step reminds him that while being a smart ass came naturally, getting maimed for his “artistry” wasn’t exactly in line with his plan to die old and naked on a beach in Italy.

“You’re friends will be returned to you upon the dawn. Have your mutts come pick them up for you.” Erica was back to her off putting smirk. 

Stiles put on an outraged tone, “Hey this one’s purebred, okay?” he motions at a still sleeping Derek with a careless wave.

Erica made a huffy little noise and looked about ready to stalk off and go be off putting and evil out of Stiles’ head, but he stops them before they can get too far. The creature looks especially put upon when Stiles stops them, but Stiles gives it a winning smile to tide it over.

“My friend, the one who’s magic you tried to rip apart from the inside out, he’s a magical creature enthusiast. If I tell him I got to have a dream starring you and I didn’t even learn your name!” Stiles shakes his head, “He’d go nuts. So in the interest of no hard feelings, do you think you could help me out? For my friend of course.”

The creature looked suspicious, rightly so, but Stiles kept his face open and honest and innocent.

“What benefit does having my name do you? I’m sure that once you have your friends back that should be enough to satisfy you.” the creature spoke cautiously, like he was thinking and trying to improvise at the same time.

Stiles just smiled disarmingly, “You’re right you are being generous in giving me my friends back, so what harm can learning your name do?”

“A name has a lot of power, and should not be used lightly.” The creature counters quickly, obviously pleased with itself on having come up with that.

And it’s right, in their world knowing someone’s name can assist you in all sorts of nastiness. Demon conjuring, exorciscisms, terrorizing humans by setting a creature free once summoned. But that’s the usual and takes a whole host of ingredients that Stiles doesn’t have right now so they don’t even matter. But this creature’s name, does.

“Did I dream this, or did you create this dream for me?” Stiles asks once he realizes the creature won’t be so easily swayed towards giving Stiles what he wants.

The creature sighs, realizing that Stiles won’t be letting it leave so soon. It petulantly stomps over to Stiles’ window seat, and throws itself dramatically down, “I don’t suppose you’re gonna allow me to leave until I answer all of your insufferable questions?”

Stiles shook his head. With a sigh (this guy sighs a lot wow) the creature waves a hand to signal Stiles to proceed with his questions.

“So did you create this dream, or did you just place yourself in it?” is the first thing Stiles asks. The creature rolls it’s eyes and scoffs, but answer’s anyway.

“I cannot create that which isn’t already there. I can, however, join a dream already in progress.”

Stiles nods, sensing he was getting the truth and a pretty straight answer from the creature. He couldn’t figure out how far to push, though. The creature was smart, smart enough to be suspicious of Stiles wanting to know it’s name. So coaxing useable information out of it might be a challenge.

“Are we going to find my friends alive?”

The creature truly looks insulted now, “Why would I kill them and then come tell you to get them? They’ve no use to me dead.”

“Ah, but they’re useful to you now. So why give them back?” Stiles counters.

The creature pauses, just now realizing how revealing his speech actually was. So it thinks of some other angle to push, but Stiles is already prepared for it.

“Is this what you do? Go into dreams? Is this how you feed?”

The creature stills, freezes would be a better word for the sudden stillness that came over Erica’s body. A sharklike grin makes its way across Stiles’ lips and he leans forward in bed to truly look over the creature.

It’s not really wearing Erica’s body, Stiles can see that now. It’s merely wearing a shadow of a body. It’s own form is somewhere underneath. Stiles has probably never seen this creature before, probably never even read a description of it before. So it had to take a memory of his to create a form, something to communicate with. It most likely recognized Erica and decided she would do.

Getting out of bed with slow, careful movements, Stiles began to list off the information he had on the creature so far, “Let’s see,” he hums, “You smell like milk and blood, you took three creatures, two of which are pregnant and therefore producing both blood and milk. You come to me in my dreams, and that’s how you feed.”

The creature sneers, “You’ve got it all figured out don’t you?”

Stiles shakes his head and shrugs, he continues to stalk forward, getting closer and closer to the creature. “You’re not feeding on me. If you were this,” he taps the protection spell hidden under his shirt that Tessa gave him, “Would be going crazy and would immediately wake me up. Stopping you in the middle of a meal.”

Stiles is in front of the creature now, and studying it with his head cocked to the side, he can truly see the Erica is merely a trick of the light. The creature is just beneath, hidden because his eyes want to focus on the bigger picture. Stiles has to work to look deeper, look past Erica’s red lips and curly waves.

Leaning forwards, he points his index finger and slowly moves it so that he can touch the creature. Erica moves along with the finger, pressing back and back and back in the window seat until it’s head knocks against the glass. But Stiles keeps on advancing, looking past the glimmer, searching for….it.

When his hand makes contact, Erica’s visage shatters immediately with a grimace. All that’s left behind is a bat like creature wearing a comically large tricorn hat atop its head. It’s as thin as bones and covered in a light fur all around. It’s features are both pinched and wrinkled, like a chihuahua and an english bulldog had a baby.

It shudders against Stiles’ finger still pressed against the very center of it’s forehead. It looks up at Stiles with huge brown eyes, and frowns.

“Happy?” It snaps.

Stiles cocks his head to the side, still studying it and trying to catalogue everything so he can describe it to Deaton and Salvatore once he wakes up. It tries once, to wiggle out from under his fingertip, but Stiles’ other hand shoots out like a snake, and brutally squeezes its throat to keep it in place.

“There’s the still the matter of my friends. I want to know what you did with them, to them. And then I want you to take me to them.”

The creature looks close to snapping back, but Stiles’ already tight grip on it’s neck tightens further, and the thin bones in its neck creak in protest. So he nods, and Stiles makes sure to check for any deception, before releasing his grip.

“And as insurance, that you won’t strand me in my dream and real life,” Stiles says, “I’ll take this.” He snatches the tricorn of the creature's head.

It’s entire body crumples and it begins to cry pitifully. “Oh please, mage. Not my...I promise mage, I promise. I know your kind, I know. You’re the good kind. B-b-but please mage-”

“I’ll give it back!” Stiles snaps, and then he sighs. Although reassurance that he’s a good guy deep down might not be believable since he’s quite literally holding the creature by its neck and stealing it’s most prized possession.

But the sniveling stops, and the creature's huge brown eyes bob with it’s head as it assures him it’ll help him achieve his goal. It’s not enough for Stiles, and he knows he has to finish this before it begins again. Nip it in the bud before the creature takes his lenience as weakness and tries some shit like this all over again.

He may not want to live in Beacon Hills, but it’s still his hometown. He had to make sure this...thing, didn’t attempt the same thing once he (if he) left.

“Tell me your name.” Stiles asks again.

The creature whimpers, so Stiles releases his grip on it’s throat. Instead he holds his hand up and whispers, “Vorsa.” in his palm, a small blue flame dances across the length of his hand and the creatures shrinks impossibly away.

“A-a-alp. We’re creatures similar to incubi but w-we don’t need sex to feed.” The creature stammers out around his tears.

Stiles nods, and extinguishes the flame. He’d understood that part at least. He’d heard of the _alp_ before, and they weren’t all bad, but they were often responsible for nightmares. The drink the blood of young men and children (from their nipples someone once told him but they'd been drunk and in Russia at the time so who knows). They prefer breast milk though. They come in the night, give their host nightmares and then feeds.

They’re Germanic in origin, and can be turned "good" with the right magic. Although it's time consuming. It's hard to be afraid of a creature that relies so much on a hat (not always tricorn) to aid them in their escapades. It's even harder to be afraid of said creature, when you're crushing it's throat and wearing said tricorn. How this thing managed to steal two werewolves and a kitsune is a mystery.

This creature probably stole Isaac because it’d be a lot easier to create nightmares with a mind that’s been through as much as he has. The alp had no doubt taken them, created a tether so that they could always feed from them, and then planned to send them back so the rest of the pack wouldn’t come after it and try to kill him. Erica and Kira were an obvious choice as well do to their...conditions and the fact that they're female.

He’d never heard of an _alp_ feeding off of werewolves before, and this tiny little thing couldn’t have done it alone.

When Stiles tries to interrogate the creature further, he realizes that the thing is still dribbling pitifully, staring at his hat with tear filled eyes and sobbing. Alp’s were very attached to their hats. From what Stiles understands, as long as he has the hat, he has the alp fully in the palm of his hand.

There’s a part of him that sounds eerily like Scott telling him he doesn’t have to do this, that he can give the creature it’s hat back and send it on its way. But there’s a smarter part of him, the part of him that appealed to Leo when they first met, that tells him to take advantage of the moment. If the creature were in his shoes, able to force him to do his bidding thanks to the leverage he gained, he wouldn’t hesitate.

He’ll suffer exponentially once Derek wakes up and they find Erica, Isaac, and Kira. The pack won’t stand for such a blatant disrespect on their land. So Stiles could do the right thing, hand back the hat and allow the creature a few moments respite from his terror before death. It’s what Scott would do, no doubt.

“Take me to my friends, and then wake me up. When we get back to the house safely in the real world, I’ll give you back your hat.”


	10. Reaffirm

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> End of conflict. Get ready for fluff!!!

Stiles wakes Salvatore first once the creature led him to the missing wolves. Anyone else couldn’t do anything without the Alpha’s say so, and he didn’t want to include Derek in anything until he and Salvatore talked and checked over the woods. Plus Salvatore was the only one he knew who would wander through an unknown forest at 3 am just because of a text from Stiles.

When Salvatore aparates in the clearing, his curls are wild, not yet tame by his careful concoction of gels and mouses that cost more put together than Stiles’ jeep. He’s still wearing his flannel sleeping pants, or actually, he’s still wearing Stiles’ sleeping pants, and Stiles' hoodie. He’s barefoot, which normally Stiles would worry about because...forest floor, ew. But he hadn’t walked here anyway, and most likely wouldn’t be walking back.

“The Alpha spent a long time by your bedside, _caro_. Should I be prepared to mail you back your things? Mama, of course won’t be happy.” Salvatore says by way of greeting.

Stiles rolls his eyes and doesn’t dignify it with a response. If he answers, Salvatore will no doubt find a way to keep him answering and then he'll say too much. Like how natural it felt to just settle side by side with Derek in a bed. How they talked about his scars and what happened after he left Beacon Hills all those years ago. Salvatore would say something too introspective and deep for 3 am and Stiles hadn't gotten enough sleep to properly handle it.

Instead, he points at the sniveling creature at his feet. “Got ourselves an alp here, Salvy. He came to me in a dream to tell me where these guys were,” Stiles waves a hand at the still slumbering wolves, “And then he also happened to tell me his name and how his power works. Wasn’t that nice, _tesoro_?”

Salvatore, smirks at his sarcasm, but does get closer to the creature. It doesn’t flinch when Salvatore examines it head to toe, and doesn’t even move once he begins to touch it. Stiles feels protective surge when his friend gets closer to the creature, but dissipates when Salvatore (a move only he could get away with) begins to scratch behind it’s ears.

With a reluctant sigh, the creature collapses, but takes Salvatore with it so he can keep scratching behind it’s ears. Salvatore smiles smugly up at Stiles, who simply rolls his eyes. Only Salvatore would feel smug about kneeling on the wet forest floor for a creature that looks more like a wingless bat dog, than a cuddly cat.

“So what should we do? The alp is obviously in the league of the thousands of other creatures in love with you. Should I turn him over to Derek or let him go?”

Hearing the Alpha’s name has the creature chirruping in distress, before it launches itself at Salvatore and begins to rub itself fully against him. Salvatore simply laughs, and resumes his petting, before turning to regard Stiles more seriously. Or, as serious as Salvatore gets. The guy is currently wearing Stiles’ old hoodie and sleep pants. He looks adorably mussed and fresh out of bed, who can take that seriously?

“The Alpha would kill this creature?” he asks for confirmation.

Stiles nods once.

“And you want me to tell you why he should?” Salvatore asks again.

Stiles shrugs and runs a hand through his hair in distress, “I don’t know man! I mean, on the one hand, things are all good here. Aside from the trouble it caused there’s no harm done. And I have its hat at the moment so it’s subdued you know? So…”

“So…” Salvatore prompts..

And _God_ does he hate it when Salvatore get’s all Deaton on him. He never really answers a question or contributes to a conversation. He just says just the right thing without giving too much away so that you can figure it out yourself or come to your own conclusion about things.

But that’s not why Stiles called Salvatore out here. He called him out here so that he had to make the shitty decision on whether or not to kill an obviously pathetic creature. On the one hand, it’s Derek’s right as the Alpha of the Hale Pack in Beacon Hills, California, to dispose of any threat to his pack as he sees fit.

And although the creature hadn’t really harmed the wolves he took, he still kidnapped three of Derek’s wolves. He still threatened the town Alpha. An outsider like Stiles shouldn’t and wouldn’t have any say in whether or not Derek killed it. Derek would kill it or he wouldn’t and as a visiting magic user in a county he wasn’t bound to, Stiles would have to listen.

It’s just that the alp was _so_ pathetic. On paper, it all checked out; powers that put it somewhere in the realm of a vampire or an incubus, breaking into peoples homes, giving them nightmares, feeding off their blood and breast milk.

But here's where the pathetic comes in. If you ask it to stop nicely, it actually will. It'll come back to plead to be allowed to do it again, but you can simply tell him no, and he'll go away. Not to mention it's a slave to it's hat. Aside from giving people nightmares, the hat allows it to change it's appearance. Without it it's basically powerless. Then add the fact that just plugging in a keyhole on a door is enough to effectively lock in or out an alp.

And right now, case in point. The alp was comfortably lounging in Salvatores arms, which Stiles knows for a fact are amazing, and crying pitifully because Stiles stole it’s hat. He’s pretty sure that a stern talking to and a slap on the wrist would be enough to properly chastise the thing. Then it would move on and find somewhere else to feed from.

“Salvy look at it! No really look at it, I stole it’s hat in my dream and woke up with it on my head, and he hasn’t stopped crying since. Derek’s the Alpha and I have to respect that, but…” and here he faltered, again.

“Look, _caro_ , I am a visitor. You are a visitor. We can’t make these decisions.” Salvatore stopped petting the alp and placed a warm hand on Stiles’ shoulder. Stiles prepared himself for a lecture on why it matters to listen to the leaders on the area and why he can’t just do what he thinks is right. And then Salvatore is chanting, the creature is shrinking, and Stiles abruptly remembers who he’s friends with.

Salvatore puts the now miniature creature in a jar with holes in the lid. He's no doubt going to take it home, catalogue it in his bestiary, and then set free in Italy. Just like he did with every other creature they came across. Stiles smacks a hand against the back of Salvatore's neck in anger, he'd been planning to keep it all along no doubt. Probably knew Stiles wouldn't feel okay with killing the thing.

“You were seriously going to let me believe that you wanted to tell Derek about that thing?” Stiles snaps.

Salvatore smiles, “You say I’m bad at pranks, and here I pranked you.”

Stiles rolled his eyes but couldn’t fight the smile making it’s way across his face, “It’s not-that’s not pranking Salvy. You just misled me, if anything you misdirected me.”

Salvatore shrugged and began to walk back to the house, Stiles shook his head and put a cloaking spell on his friends, and lengthened the sleeping spell so they wouldn’t run off while they went and got everyone else.

“That is not pranking? I tell you one thing and have you believe it, then I reveal what I was doing all along?” Salvatore asks innocently.

Stiles doesn’t buy it and rolls his eyes. “Just hop on my back before you step on something squishy and have a heart attack. I know how you feel about nature.”

Salvatore looked at him skeptically for a second, waiting for the instant retaliation Stiles was known to rain down him when they were with one another for long periods of time. Stiles just made his face as blank as possible. Retaliating would be equivalent to saying that what Salvatore did was a prank, which it was not. Salvatore tapped the lion lounging on his side once, twice, a warning, before taking Stiles' offer and hopping on. Salvatore made him promise up and down not to prank him by getting them lost in the forest of dumping him in some “disgusting local lake”. Stiles promised without fanfare because his mind was a little preoccupied with the fact that he could probably, should probably stay for a little while longer.

He needed time to plan something good for his friend's departure. Salvatore would no doubt be going back to Ireland soon to finish up what his mother sent him there for. He didn’t know if he wanted to tag along just like old times, or stay for longer and enjoy some more visit time with his friends.

Stiles slowed a bit, so the constant swaying wouldn't wake up his friend, and adjusted the grip so his hands wouldn't dig quite too hard into his thighs. Salvatore bruised so easily, the both did. Piggy backs were a default for them, even before the started dating, so Stiles was used to Salvatore's weight on his back, and didn't expend any energy trying to think of something to say to fill the silence.

He needs to talk to his dad, about dating Melissa after so long without his mom, about retirement sometime soon. Cause he may not be around to personally worry over him, but he still worries from a distance. If Mrs. Barrett had need of him she’d send a message through Salvatore or call him herself. And his research wouldn’t suffer at all. It needs to be recatalogued, possibly taken to Deaton for comparison or to be corrected. There were loads of things to do here, should he decide to stay here.


	11. Rectify

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, this chapter was supposed to uploaded sooner, and a lot of stuff happened to postpone that. For one, I spent the day with my boyfriend meeting his family and getting to know them. The chapter was half finished in my outline and waiting for some light editing and to be posted, but I put it off.
> 
> And then, my chromebook gave out. Like, the screen decided to say, "Fuck this." and totally stop working. So now I have to transition to using the shared computer outside of my room which is....different and so far hard to get used to.
> 
> So, because of these reasons the story will either finish abruptly and in an unsatisfying way, and if this happens I will definitely create a series to clear it up. Or it'll take longer and I get to get the rest of this Sterek fluff out of my system. 
> 
> So we'll see.

“Y-you let it go?” Derek stuttered, “You found the thing that took Erica, Kira, and Isaac, and you just let it _go_.”

Stiles sighed and tried to reign in the part of him that wanted to roll his eyes. Derek had been asking the same question and Stiles had been giving the same answer for like ten minutes, but Derek just wasn’t satisfied. The rest of the pack had reunited with tears and kisses and hugs, and then dropped the matter.

Derek was the only one who hadn’t gotten over it.

Stiles went through all the appropriate steps; he woke everyone up and let the pack track down Erica, Kira, and Isaac. Then he called Deaton to alert him to the apprehension of the creature and to warn him of Derek’s predictable confusion and anger over the whole thing. Deaton got it, congratulated him on his success and then made a date for the two of them to meet and discuss magic theory.

Stiles was flying pretty high by the time the whole pack came back to the house. He’d seen Salvatore and the alp off, making sure to hand Salvatore the hat and Her before he left. He knew it was presumptuous to give up his go bag, but he was thinking that taking a vacation of sorts in Beacon Hills wouldn’t be too bad.

He’d get to be there for Erica through her pregnancy, watch Allison and Isaac get married, spend time with his dad where he’s not running head first into danger and forced to lie about it. And worse comes to worse he could always use a station to fling himself to Salvatore’s home in Italy. Have Scott send everything over once he got settled and had an address he could receive mail with.

But then Derek had to go and question everything. He knew that Derek’s life hadn’t been the best example of taking things at face value, but hey! This was Stiles we’re talking about. He’s proved more than once he can keep a secret and guard it with his life. If he says he disposed of the thing that kidnapped his wolves, then Derek should just believe him. Not sit here and question everything he’s ever done in his life.

“Look Derek, the thing was pathetic. On a scale of one to ten of the Bad Guy Scale (with Deucalion and Gerard as a ten and Scott at his most pig headed as a one) this thing wasn’t even on the scale." 

Everything he did was just a part of his nature. Humans need fruits and veggies to live and alps need nipple blood and breast milk. The nightmares and the goofy hat thing was just another quirk in the system. There was no arrogant need for power and dominance. So Stiles had no reason to kill the thing, so neither did Derek.

Not to mention they were fine! He can’t feed from someone in a place he’s not bound to, so he tried to find people who were bound to town, thinking maybe that would make feeding possible. So he formed a tether and then contacted Stiles. Most likely as a way to stop them from interfering with his movements once he started feeding.

Stiles had done a thorough (slightly invasive) search on his friends and found that whatever the alp had tried to tether them with ended up not working. So as far as Stiles was concerned, all's well that ends well. They can all sing along and move past this. Not everything in their life needed to end in a bloody battle.

“I’m the Alpha, Stiles. I decide what’s good for the pack. You can't make these decisions without consulting me.” Derek countered.

“Well I’m the mage and I’m the one who brought your pack back. So if I say it’s done, then it’s _done_!” unfairly, Stiles put a bit of his power into his voice, sending it echoing around the room for maximum effect.

It was a cheap parlor trick, one that Deaton and Salvatore would no doubt have laughed and rolled their eyes at. But Derek finally sighed, and seemed to let it go. He relaxed his stance, and moved to flop inelegantly on the nearest couch. He put one arm across his eyes and the let the other hang towards the floor, all the while Stiles waited, knowing that Derek wouldn’t allow him to have the last word without storming off in a huff first.

“So when are you leaving?” Derek mumbled.

Frowning, Stiles peered over at Derek like he’d grown a second head, “What? What do you mean?”

“Well,” Derek sighed, “You’ve solved our problem, the one we didn’t even know was in town. You saved the day, no doubt you wanna get back to your adventuring.”

Stiles continued to squint at the other man in confusion. When telling Derek about his past, the wolf may have noticed a very specific pattern that Stiles wasn’t entirely in the dark about. He traveled somewhere, he started dating someone, he solved a mystery or learned new magic, broke up with the person, and then moved on.

It was a flawless system, with very few exceptions. Namely, Salvatore. And now, Beacon Hills.

“Nah, I suppose I could stay a little longer. I’m hoping to see Chris Argent walk his daughter down the aisle at a werewolf wedding. I’m hoping it’ll be as hilarious as I imagine it to be.” Stiles laughs, but Derek doesn’t give up his position on the couch.

He doesn’t even move, just stays looking forlorn and grieving. Stiles decides a different approach.

“And I’ve never seen a werewolf come into existence in a method that doesn’t involve biting before. I’m sure that’ll be a real hoot. Not to mention, pregnant Erica.” Stiles chuckles lowly, and Derek keeps very still.

Stiles rolls his eyes, deciding the wolf is going to remain clueless and quite possibly dense until he realizes that Stiles is staying (for now at least).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Btw the chapter's are super short now and I'm dealing with it.


	12. Reclaim

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry if this is crap. I'm dealing with nerve pain along my right arm so typing has been an exercise in futility. But this is the second to last chapter and I promise you all Sterek fluff.

It takes Derek like, two weeks to figure out that Stiles is staying. For a while. He ignores the obvious indicators like Stiles turning his bedroom into a tornado of dirty/clean clothes, magic regalia, and research. He ignores Kira buying Stiles’ favorite cereal and the specific brand of beer he asked her to get him. He ignores the fact that Boyd, Erica, Allison and Stiles all have early morning runs they like to go on while everyone else is out patrolling.

It literally takes Stiles standing in the laundry room comparing the detergent that Kira bought for him and the one that the pack was already using, for Derek to get a clue.

“You’re...staying?” his voice is the height of confusion, eyebrows dipping so low on his brow that his eyes are nearly lost. Stiles spares a moment to laugh at the spectacle, before answering.

“Well I mean, Jackson refuses to do my laundry so I gotta stay and figure out your stupid space machine.”

“It’s the latest model.” Derek defends on cue.

Stiles laughs and shakes his head. Jackson was in charge of all the home stuff here at the house. He made the chore board, he handled the meals, he payed the bills. Jackson was like the pack mom in a way. When Stiles complained about how complicated their washing machine was, Jackson had hotly defended it with, “It’s the latest model!”

Stiles went back to his reading and comparing, before finally shrugging and dumping his preferred detergent all over his clothes. It was the same kind Mama Barrett used and Stiles was feeling the tiniest bit nostalgic. 

He’d heard from Salvatore that he’d used the alp they’d trapped as a solution to his trouble in Ireland, and then took an express station back to Italy that ended up breaking his leg. Once he’d stopped laughing long enough, Stiles made sure to send Mama Barrett his love. He knew she’d demand he visit at some point and was probably cursing Salvatore and his inability to perform magic without hurting himself.

He was already scrying with Salvatore before bed so he knew the other man was ultimately fine. But Salvatore was the worse sick person ever. And that included Stiles. He was fussy and stubborn and would refuse help until he made himself worse. The he turned into a clingy five year old, whining about being treated like an invalid and then also wanting you to cuddle with him all the time.

They’d gotten stranded somewhere in Egypt once and Salvatore ended up triggering this old curse that gave him hideous boils. Stiles fixed it of course, but Salvatore had been hell to take care of.

Derek was still watching Stiles as he puttered about the laundry room. He put things back where he found them, switched his wet whites into the dryer and then gathered up his laundry basket and started out of the room. Only then did Derek move, to allow Stiles to exit. He was still watching Stiles walking around so he decided to take pity on him.

“I’m going on a run later. You wanna go?” Stiles asked casually. 

Even with the extra effort he put into his tone to get across the fact that this is weird for them but he doesn’t care, Derek still stumbles all over himself to appear like he hadn’t been watching Stiles this whole time. He flails and stumbles and actually loses his balance for a bit in all his embarrassed hysteria.

Stiles shakes his head in amusement and turned to finish the walk back to his room, “Just meet me on the back porch in twenty minutes with your running gear on. If you’re late I’ll run without you.”

 

When Stiles gets to the back porch in his running gear, Derek is standing there in shorts and sneakers, looking unsure of himself. He looks like he’s getting ready to try to like, talk or something, so Stiles quickly starts talking over him.

“I want to get a good twenty miles in, so I’m thinking ten miles up thataway and then ten back. Sound good? Good.” Without waiting for conversation, Stiles launches himself off of the porch, and begins a leisurely jog.

Seconds later, Derek is on his left, following his lead on the trail. From what Stiles can see, he’s deep in thought. Stiles decides to leave him to it, as long as he doesn’t try to talk about feelings or the fact that _this_ , them hanging out, Stiles is fine with whatever he’s thinking.

Stiles can’t really defend himself for that, them not hanging. He had early morning meetings with Deaton after his run with the pack, then he had breakfast with his Dad and Melissa at their new house, and he comes back for lunch at the pack house. 

He’s either surrounded by the pack or he’s off with pack adjacent people. He can’t really make the effort to single one person out and solely talk to them, he missed everybody and he’s trying to get his fill of them before he eventually leaves. Whenever that happens.

Cause he’s sure he’s going to leave. Mama Barrett hasn’t given him any quests yet but he knew she was waiting for him to tell her that he was off vacation. For now Juliette was handling the cases he was passing up. Her magic (based on the energy of the universe) was a little less volatile and than Stiles’ tattoos, and she handled her business without all the dangerous bumbling Stiles is known for. 

She’s a perfect temporary replacement for him.

The faint trail they’re following takes a slight curve, and they’re finally out of hearing range of the house. Stiles knows this, and he assumes all the other wolves know this, so he begins to start a conversation with Derek. He attempts for casual but he’s pretty sure he simply comes across as apathetic or something.

“How’s Beacon Hills doing, o’ Alpha mine.”

He’s mentally smacking himself the second the words leave his mouth and he wishes Salvatore was there to cushion the blow of how utterly stupid he is. Salvatore can pull off stupid the same way Scott can. It’s adorable and endearing. When Stiles is stupid you worry about whether or not he’ll drool on your couch and if you should get him a bib.

Not exactly endearing, is it?

Derek’s brow furrows slightly as Stiles interrupts whatever he’d been thinking about before Stiles’ verbal fuck up and he says, “Safe. I’ll probably have to cut the patrols back a bit. Our best runners are either at work or pregnant. Can’t have their mates separated for too long either.”

Stiles doesn’t know what to say to that. He’s surprised Derek even thought he deserved as much an answers as that. He’s used to gruff, monosyllabic sentences that leaves Stiles at least partially in the dark and feeling younger than he is. He considers how he can answer that, finds nothing, and decides silence is probably best.

 

At mile five, Stiles has worked up a nice sweat, and Derek has just started to breathe a little heavier. They haven’t said anything since that aborted conversation at the beginning of the run, and Stiles hasn’t noticed. Too much.

The run is silent, but not in an awkward way. Stiles is focused on the sounds of the forest coming alive around him, the humming call of the ley lines beneath his feet. He’s at peace. He wishes Salvatore was here to experience this, he loved all things nature. He was the one who originally got Stiles into running in the first place. Partially to help him on his travels, partially to help with his overabundance of energy.

When Stiles mentions what he’s thinking offhandedly to Derek, the Alpha’s brows go low on his face and he frowns for the next three miles.

Stiles notices the souring of the mood, and can’t for the life of him figure out what he’d done to mess it up. Typically he likes being aware of when he puts his foot in his mouth. Not so he can fix it, cause fixing it never works, but so he can feel the appropriate amount of embarrassment. Cause while he doesn’t doubt that he put his foot in his mouth, he’d also like to know exactly what he said that put it there.

Derek waited until they stopped to rest, before finally saying anything. “How’s Salvatore?” he asks forcefully.

Confused, Stiles’ answer lifts up at the end like a question, “Good?”

Derek nods seriously and stares deep into Stiles’ eyes, “I know it was rude to listen to your conversation, but I overheard that he broke his leg?”

Stiles realizes with a start that Derek is trying, horribly, to make small talk. The thought makes him wanna laugh, but he pushes it down. He’s trying to start something new with Derek. A friendship not born out of mutual dislike and saving each other’s lives. But two people who genuinely enjoy spending time with one another and can talk without the threat of death hanging over their heads.

So he smiles, and tells Derek about Salvatore being in such a rush to get out of Ireland that he ended up breaking his leg. Which led to him telling Derek about how much Salvatore hates Ireland and how he’s pretty sure that, should the country as a whole gain sudden sentience, it would hate him too. He tells him about what a horrible patient he is and the one time Stiles actually tried to take care of them because their relationship was new and he didn’t know and how horrible that ended up.

He talked through their rest, and then talked for another two miles all about Salvatore and their friendship. When he neared the end, Derek had a pained look on his face an interrupted to say, “How long have you been dating?”

Stiles didn’t mind the interruption and shrugged, “If you don’t count all our breakups or the people I’ve dated in between our break ups then about two years. I think we’re finally done with that on and off thing though.”

“Oh?” Derek asks through clenched teeth.

Stiles, oblivious, continues on as if this is just another leisurely conversation through a jog that’s slowly increasing to a run, “Well yeah. I’m here and he’s over there. I still don’t have any immediate plans, although I do plan to visit Italy again. Besides,” He breathes through a cramp forming on his side, “I’m pretty sure he and Juliette will finally bring their heads outta their asses and date.”

Derek stops so abruptly he skids across the forest floor. Stiles, not realizing that they were suddenly stopping, turns to look at Derek curiously. His face is white and he’s looking at Stiles as if he’s a ghost or something. Stiles walks back to the stunned wolf in confusion, waiting for an explanation.

He doesn’t have to wait long.

“Salvatore and Juliette?” Derek asks breathlessly.

Stiles nods, “Yeah...They’ve been dancing around one another since they met. I tried getting them together for a time but I ended up dating him instead. Salvatore and I haven’t dated in like, a year I think. Perfect timing for him and Juliette.”

Derek’s face scrunches even more in confusion when Stiles says that, “You’re not dating Salvatore?” he demands.

Stiles squints at him in confusion before nodding like, “Duh!” but he doesn’t say that. Derek seems to be thinking really hard about something because he wouldn’t meet Stiles’ eyes and when he stepped forward, intending to ask him what’s wrong, Derek bolts in the other direction.

“Derek?” he asked the air.

 

When Derek makes it back to the house, it’s nearing midnight, dinner has concluded and been cleaned up, and the rest of the back has gone to bed. Only Stiles, sitting on a thick rug in front of the fireplace is awake, and Derek is obviously surprised to see him.

Stiles can’t imagine why. He _is_ staying here. And it wasn’t _him_ who ditched their running partner for no reason. Stiles even waited for him for ten minutes, before walking all the way back alone. He went through his routine, showered, read through his research before dinner, and nothing. Derek never came back.

And logically the next step would be to call the missing wolf but Stiles didn’t even have the guy’s number. He felt weird asking anyone in the pack for it and even Kira, the one who would tease him the least for his interest, was being smothered by Scott since her stomach had just begun to plump up.

So Stiles had waited, four hours, and now that Derek was here, looking like a teenager caught sneaking back in past curfew, he was kind of over their weird...whatever they have going on.

“Do you still hate me or something?” Stiles blurts out.

“What!” Derek starts. That was obviously not what he was expecting, and Stiles doesn't give him enough time to recover before he’s moving on to his next question.

“Are you upset with me living here? Cause I can go stay with my dad and Melissa for a while. I don’t wanna intrude on pack territory-”

“You can’t intrude on what’s rightfully yours. You are pack.” Derek counters.

Stiles throws his hands up in the air, “Then what! What? What’s it gonna take for you to stop looking at me like you can’t figure out why I’m here.”

“I looked at you that way because,” Derek pauses and looks down at his hands. 

Stiles senses a sudden shift in the conversation they’ having. At first he was frustrated, he’d hoped with that conversation they had about his scars and the night he left, they could move on. He would try to stop hating the wolf, and Derek would try to get over his guilt. And Stiles has actually tried. It’s just Derek who’s holding him at arms length. Stiles decides there’s only one way to solve this and end up on the same page.

“Do you want to have sex?” Stiles blurts out.

Derek starts so bad Stiles worries about his heart, and then red rushed to his face. “What!” he asks incredulously.

“Well, by my reasoning things between us went sour because of sex. Stands to reason that having sex can only fix things.”

Derek gives him a look, and he breaks. “Okay true that logic isn’t sound. But would you believe me if I told you I wanted to have sex with you?”

Derek shrugs, “I only just found out you weren’t dating Salvatore. I’d believe anything at this point.”

Stiles frowns, “You thought I was dating Salvatore? What gave you that idea?”

Derek’s face brightens once again as blood rushes to his face. He stalls by walking over the couch nearest the fireplace (there were three in all and it’s endlessly confusing to Stiles why they just don’t get armchairs).

“You were...you smelled like one another,” Derek begins.

“I lived with him and his mom for a while, Derek. I think I’m gonna smell like a person I lived with, no matter if we’re dating or not.”

Derek nods, “You had pet names for one another.”

Stiles snorts, “I call Scott Scotty, Lydia Lyds, and Erica Catwoman. Are you gonna accuse me of dating them too? Cause I’m pretty sure their mates would have something to say about that.”

Amazingly, Derek smiles at that and some of the tension bleeds out of the room. Stiles finds himself staring intently at the way the firelight washes over Derek’s features. Bathing him in a warm glow, casting shadows over his effortlessly structured cheeks and jaw. To anyone else, Stiles supposes, Derek looks almost sinister, with dark circles over his eyes and dark shadows shading his cheeks. But to Stiles he looks heavenly. Angelic even.

“What does it matter if I’m dating anyone?” Stiles asks softly as he gathers his knees under himself. Doing this puts him eye to eye with the wolf, and he shivers when a flash of red bleeds through the otherwise dark shadows over his face.

“I-” Derek stutters.

Stiles smirks, leans forward, and rest both hands on Derek’s knees. They both stare down at how pale his slender fingers look against Derek’s bare knees. His running shorts have ridden up, exposing more than half his thigh for Stiles’ hungry eyes.

“I was only partially joking about the sex, you know.” Stiles murmurs suddenly. His voice has gone low and husky without his permission. But Derek seems to like it, if the way he clenches his fingers where they rest on the couch cushion is any hint.

“Stiles,” Derek whispers brokenly.

Using that as a signal, Stiles leans forward, and presses his lips against Derek’s. It’s a peck, warm lips and soft lips and then Derek gasps, “Oh!” he whispers. Stiles applies more pressure. Derek’s claws rip into the couch. Derek kisses back. And….

“Wow,” Stiles whispers.

It’s not like fireworks or wedding bells. None of that dramatic Hallmark shit. It’s warmth. Warmth like slow moving lava, magma. Filling him his heart and taking his breath away when Derek suddenly takes control, when he suddenly deepens the kiss. Derek’s lips are unbelievably soft and warm. They fit against Stiles’ like they were made to, and continue to fit even when the kiss turns slick and heated.

Derek’s fully punctured the couch at this point. Claws ripping through the upholstery while Stiles digs his nails into the meat of Derek’s thigh. He’s situated between the v of Derek’s legs, reveling in the tantalizing way everything feels when they’re chest to chest. He feels consumed, he feels overwhelmed. But he doesn’t feel adrift. He feels anchored.

Derek, is his anchor.

Pulling apart is figurative for them. Their lips drift apart, never for long, but they keep their foreheads together, breathing in one another’s air. Stiles feels a surge of pride at the fact that Derek looks thoroughly debauched. Eyes wild with the wolf and lust, lips spit slick and swollen from kissing.

Of course Stiles can’t leave a serious moment alone without ruining it. “So not to sound like a broken record, but we could totally be having sex right now.”

Derek huff out a laugh, and then gently brings Stiles’ face back so he can continue to kiss him stupid. Stiles promptly forgets his own name.


	13. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here it is guys. The end.

Stiles isn’t sure how it happened, but he’s pretty sure he’s been in Beacon Hills for like six months now, and he hasn’t even gotten that itchy feeling he gets when it’s time to move on. His life has a routine now. He has breakfast with his dad and Melissa, he works with Deaton, has lunch and dinner with the pack, works as a kind of emissary for hire for other neighboring packs.

His life is as monotonous as it gets and he’s not even bored!

He’s getting to watch Erica and Kira blow up with their pregnancies and it’s quite honestly amazing. As much as he teases them he’s also insanely proud of how far his friends have come. A part of him can’t get over how insanely young they are and how lucky they are to have even made it this far in their lives after all they went through, but… They’ve earned this.

His friends have earned their family.

So lets see. How has everything changed since Stiles never left?

Salvatore’s leg healed right up. Thanks in part to Juliette’s magic. Those two are still dancing around one another, but at least they’re actually taking the chance to date one another seriously this time. It might help that there’s no Stiles to mess up their chemistry this time. But he likes to think his presence merely allowed them time to mature for one another. And now, three years after meeting, they’re ready for one another.

Allison and Isaac had a beautiful wedding. It was in a church (Chris’ idea) and Stiles is man enough to admit that he cried like a baby. They’re both on their honeymoon now, somewhere in France that Stiles decided not to look into. He’s been all over France and if they went anywhere he knew about he’d no doubt ruin it for them.

Jackson has Lydia getting closer to considering dating him again. Stiles thinks it’s mostly because of how much the former sports star has changed, but he tries to stay out of their business. Mostly because Lydia threatened to castrate him if he didn’t.

Scott and Kira, Erica and Boyd, are just two couples in love going through the joys of a first pregnancy. Which is a nice way of saying that Kira and Scott are living with John and Melissa at the moment since tempers between the pregnant women are running hot and cold.

More than one fight has broken out because of their respective wolf and fox natures. So Derek ordered a temporary cease fire in the form of literally separating them. It’s worked so far. Although Stiles has no idea what Derek’s gonna do once Scott and Kira come back to raise their baby around pack. But he’s sure the Alpha will have thought of something.

And last but not least, Derek. Derek Hale. The love of Stiles’ life. He has to be. Because Stiles is pretty sure he’s never felt this way about anyone. Not about Tessa or Salvatore. The love he has for Derek is the kind of love his parents had for one another. Which is not something he ever thought he’d be lucky enough to find.

It wasn’t easy getting to the point of true love declarations. Mostly because Derek still harboured the fear that Stiles would skip town as soon as he could. And then there was the fact that as in love as he knew he was, Stiles couldn’t be sure about Derek’s feelings for him.

‘Cause it’s not like the wolf suddenly became a Chatty Cathy after their first kiss. It’s kind of hard to define the relationship when the other person seems less inclined to talk about feelings than you are. And add to the fact that Derek didn’t know how to love someone romantically without being reminded of Kate and Ms. Blake.

Things were tricky.

But Stiles was good at tricky. He took things one day at a time. Going on runs with Derek before dinner. Helping him with his communications with other packs. Hanging out with him around the house while the rest of the pack went off to their various jobs. Being there. Stiles proved he was going to be there, and Derek loosened up enough to realize that they could actually do this.

Nothing’s perfect. Nothing in Stiles’ life has ever been perfect. But he’s happy. He has the man of his dreams, his friends, his family, his pack. He has everything a mage could ever need. Is it enough?

It is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So due to the responses I've been getting I've been considering writing a part two, or even starting a series, about our favorite mage and pack. This story has gone farther than I even originally planned, and I'm happy to end it here. But if anyone would like to know more about Leonora and Lavender, or see Erica and Kira have their babies, or get a FULL rundown of the Argent-Lahey wedding. Let me know.
> 
> If I get enough of a response I will be happy to write that for you all.


End file.
